Sharper Than a Serpent's Tooth
by brontefanatic
Summary: Set in the "Reckoning" AU. Married to a man she hates, Kahlan's only chance of being reunitied with Richard depends upon her daughter. But how can a parent justify the sacrifice of her own child?
1. Hope

**A/N: Ever since I saw "Reckoning" for the first time I have wondered what might have happened if, instead of giving birth to Nicholas, Kahlan had given birth to the Confessor daughter that she wanted so badly; the daughter she believed would bring Richard back to her. Also, what effect would Kahlan's terrible losses - her sister, Zedd, and, of course, Richard - have had on her emotionally. What kind of a mother would she have been to such a child? What kind of a father would Darken have been? Most importantly - Would the child of this marriage be able to meet her mother's expectations?**

**This is my version of what might have happened.**

**This story was inspired not only by "Reckoning", but also by another story on this site: "Down through the Years", by Vorquellyn.**

**Disclaimer: The Sword of Truth copyright/Terry Goodkind. Legend of the Seeker, characters, names and anything related are trademarks of Sam Raimi and ABC Studios. This fan fiction is written for entertainment purposes only. I own nothing and make no profit. This story is based on the television show and not the books.**

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_Cruelty has a human heart,_

_And Jealousy a human face; _

_Terror the human form divine,_

_And secrecy the human dress._

_The human dress is forged iron,_

_The human form a fiery forge,_

_The human face a furnace seal'd_

_The human heart its hungry gorge_

**_A Divine image_**

_William Blake_

_(Songs of Innocence and Experience, 1794)_

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**Hope**

It was the first royal birth in more than thirty-five years.

Everything was prepared.

Alice sent for the healer as soon as the pains began.

Queen Kahlan Rahl stroked her swollen belly.

Ignoring the commotion around her, she thought only of the task at hand.

_She will be here soon, Richard._

_I will raise her to love you_.

_She will be our salvation. _

Kahlan repeated this litany every hour of every day since she had learned she was with child.

The child conceived of a bargain made with a demon.

Only sheer will and determination had carried Kahlan through these last nine months.

The determination to do what was necessary.

The determination to bear a confessor child to accomplish what she could not.

A daughter to guide the man she loved back to her.

Then the world would be made right. The nightmare she was living would never happen.

Kahlan gasped as the pangs of labor gripped her like a vise.

_Soon, Richard, soon._

**oOo**

Darken Rahl stalked through the Palace chambers like a caged tiger.

Servants and guards were careful to maintain a safe distance. His Mord'Sith remained alert and carefully impassive.

"What is taking so long?" his voice was harsh with impatience, and something more.

A concern he found it difficult to conceal.

It infuriated him that the process of childbirth would not yield to his need for control.

So much depended on this small new life.

"My Lord"

Darken turned as Alice, his wife's companion, came into the room carrying a small bundle. "You have a fine, healthy daughter."

"And her mother?"

"Fine, my Lord, but very tired. It was a hard birth."

Fighting down a confusing surge of relief, joy and disappointment, Darken gathered up the child in his arms.

As the Lord Rahl it was his right to determine whether this child would be permitted to live.

He tentatively put one arm underneath the tiny body, using his other hand to gently support her head. He had never held an infant before and was terrified of dropping her.

Not that he would ever let it show.

The Darken who was obsessed with power had wanted a son. The prospect of having a male confessor to raise and mold had been intoxicating. For the past year, ever since he had discovered that his brother, the so-called Seeker, was coming after him, Darken had attempted to harness the power of confession by any means possible.

But the Seeker was no more.

The shadow that had haunted his life for the last twenty-four years was finally gone.

During Kahlan's pregnancy, horrifying visions had often jolted him awake in the small hours of the morning.

Visions of a devastated and barren landscape.

Visions of D'Hara's future under the rule of a male confessor.

A confessor son who would rebel against his father.

If a son this powerful could destroy his own kingdom, what would that son do to a father who stood in his way?

Male Confessors had once come very close to destroying the world.

Darken had always known that any children Kahlan gave him would almost certainly be daughters. He had been willing to make that concession in return for the benefits she would bring to him, and to D'Hara, as his queen.

With the Mother Confessor at his side, amnesty granted to those who laid down their weapons, places of healing established and homes provided to the children orphaned in the fighting, the Resistance had, for all practical purposes, sputtered and died. The few isolated rebellions had been swiftly extinguished as he consolidated his power.

Terror as an instrument of control was no longer necessary.

The people loved their Queen and, through her, were beginning to accept their King. A child, even a daughter, would further help wipe away the misperceptions his people had held about him for so many years.

Through a daughter, he would still have the power of confession.

Under his loving guidance and control, she would help him maintain the peace that had finally been restored with his marriage.

She would belong to him in a way that a son never could. There would be no struggle for power between an aging ruler and an ambitious young man.

This daughter would always love him.

She would never flinch away from his touch.

Would never look at him with cold distain.

She would not despise him.

Her love and admiration would finally make him complete.

Would fill the constant tormenting emptiness inside.

In return, he would make sure that she would have everything she ever wanted

For the first time in as long as he could remember Darken Rahl felt an emotion that certainly must have been happiness. He smiled into his daughter's eyes and took her in to meet her mother.

If he remembered the birth of an ungifted son who had never been held, he gave no sign.

**oOo**

Kahlan Rahl was so exhausted she could barely lift her head off the pillow. It had been a long agonizing labor.

The physical ordeal was over.

But she was beginning to grow anxious as she kept her eyes on the door to her bedchamber.

As was the custom she would know nothing about the child until her husband had decided its fate.

She had prayed so hard for a daughter. Surely, after all she had gone through, the Creator would not deny her that.

The prospect of a son born of this marriage was too monstrous to contemplate.

The door to her room swung open as Alice helped her sit up.

Rahl entered with their child in his arms.

Despair swept over her at the look on his face.

_He would never look this happy if it were a girl!_

Her husband sat down on the bed next to her and gently pulled the blanket away from the child's puckered face.

"We have a beautiful daughter, my love."

She almost sobbed with gratitude.

She smiled at her husband with complete happiness as she reached out for her child.

As Darken relinquished the newborn to her mother's arms he reached out to brush Kahlan's still damp hair away from her face. She didn't even try to pull away.

"Have you picked out a name, Kahlan?"

They had never discussed names. Since the bargain made before their marriage, they had rarely discussed anything.

Gazing down at her daughter, Kahlan suddenly thought of another little girl. A ten year old child who had dealt her husband what, at the time, had seemed to be a crushing blow.

Once Richard had obtained all three Boxes of Orden, they had both believed Darken Rahl's destruction inevitable.

They had been so hopeful.

This child would bring about what the other child could not.

"Rachel", Kahlan smiled softly to herself, "Her name is Rachel".

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**Reviews, comments and constructive criticism are very welcome.**


	2. Secrets

**Secrets**

Rachel Rahl's earliest memory was of being carried in her father's arms out on the balcony for the devotional.

A ritual repeated on so many occasions that she could not have said with any degree of certainty when it first occurred.

She remembered the sounds of cheers, the security of her father's body, the smell and scratchy-soft feel of his velvet robes, the warmth in his eyes when he looked at her, the sense of being protected and safe.

She remembered feeling special and important.

She remembered her mother gleaming at her with pride.

Rachel remembered the tense silence between her parents as they re-entered the palace.

But what she remembered most, what she felt most keenly, was seeing the light and life going out of her mother's eyes as soon as they were inside, and feeling the sudden chill in the air.

**oOo**

Five-year old Rachel was tucked in bed for the night listening to one of her mother's wonderful stories about the great hero Richard Cypher.

The Seeker of Truth sent by the Creator to save the world from the evil king.

Richard was handsome, honest and kind.

Richard would protect the good people and destroy all of the bad people.

Rachel loved the Richard stories.

"Mother, when I get big I am going to help Richard kill the evil king."

Her mother's response was always the same. One terrible night Richard disappeared in a flash of magic and had not been seen again.

But all was not lost.

"Someday, sweetheart, Richard will return, but he will need the help of someone very special.

"You have to grow up and learn what must be done to help him come back to us."

Rachel couldn't wait to grow up.

Nothing could be better than helping Richard.

She giggled as her mother reminded her that the Richard stories were just between the two of them.

It was nice to share a special secret with her mother.

**oOo**

From her window seat, Kahlan Rahl watched her husband and daughter walking toward the stables.

"Father, please hurry," the seven-year old girl urged her father as he caught up to her.

Darken was delighted with Rachel's passion for horses. A new foal had been born the night before and he had promised she could raise him as her own.

Small hands firmly clasped in her father's, Rachel continued to urge him to walk faster. She was jumping with excitement as her father smiled down at her.

"Shadow. If he is silver, I am naming him Shadow."

Suddenly, the little girl turned and smiled up at her mother.

It was hard to resist the joy in her face.

The careless happiness of being alive on such a warm summer day.

After waving back to her daughter, Kahlan turned from the window as Alice entered the room.

"He spends too much time with her. What are they doing? What is he telling her? "

Kahlan tugged nervously at the rada'han clasped around her neck.

_He. _

_My husband. _

_Rahl_.

Although she had agreed to this marriage, Kahlan would never call him by his given name.

She refused.

By giving Rahl a daughter with the power of confession, Kahlah often worried that she had provided him with a tool more easily controlled than a Confessor son. Her husband had insisted from the day of her birth on being very involved in Rachel's life.

For some reason Kahlan had not anticipated that.

It frightened her.

Rahl's attempts to manipulate his daughter's emotions infuriated Kahlan. The man was very good at going through the motions of a caring parent.

Her daughter was still too innocent to see truth about her father.

Once trained by her mother, Rachel would see the man for what he really was.

She needed to ensure that it was her will, not her husband's, that shaped their daughter.

"Alice, he will succeed in corrupting her if we don't watch closely. I must know that you will make sure Rachel learns what she has to do if anything should happen to me."

Kahlan was growing increasingly anxious about the urgency of teaching her daughter everything necessary to help Richard return from the future.

Although Rachel would not be sent to Aydindril for instruction as would have been the case in years past, her daughter must soon begin more intense training in the control and use of her powers.

Her future responsibilities.

Precious time was slipping away, and the Queen never knew how much she had left.

The last eight years had been so hard.

So lonely.

So barren.

Her husband had returned to her bed several months after Rachel's birth, saying that their daughter should have a sister.

Although he denied it, Kahlan suspected he still cherished hope that she would give him a Confessor son.

She endured his caresses with misery and shame, telling herself that all of this would someday be erased from time and memory.

But the man seemed to want something more from her than just a child.

Something just out of his reach.

Unobtainable.

Something he could not take and she would not give.

The one power she still possessed, despite his ability to use her reluctant body.

The fact that he used her gently made it no less a violation. Somehow, the tenderness made it even more obscene.

While he had never struck her, the threat of violence was always implicit in his touch.

She knew, she had seen, what he was capable of doing to anyone who opposed him.

While he usually kept his volatile temper in check around her, and never displayed anger toward Rachel, her husband had an uncanny ability to sense Kahlan's vulnerabilities.

He could use soft words as viciously as some men used daggers.

And if his own pain unleashed those words, it was pain well deserved.

How dare he expect anything more?

He kept her shackled, yet refused to acknowledge her imprisonment.

Thankfully, when Rachel was almost two years old, Rahl announced that since Kahlan found his touch so repugnant he would no longer trouble her.

"Three people in bed together can be quite pleasurable, my love," he had drawled, stroking her cheek. "But I **do** insist on deciding who that third person will be. I will leave you alone with the ghost of Richard Cyper."

On that same day a lavish suite of rooms had been prepared for her.

Husband and wife still appeared together at public functions, often with Rachel between them.

The outward appearance of a happy family.

A farce.

Kahlan's whole life now centered on Rachel and on the hope of being reunited with Richard.

It was all she lived for.

It was all she thought about.

Nothing else mattered.

**oOo**

The Queen's greatest fear was that her husband would kill her before she could complete her daughter's training. She was convinced that every cold, every illness was evidence of poison or dark magic.

Alice wasn't so sure.

The woman had no affection for Darken Rahl. He had been responsible for the deaths of her parents in the Resistance. However, the ruler had raised no objection when his wife chose Alice to be her companion and had never interfered in their relationship.

In her presence Darken was always formally attentive and courteous to his wife.

Alice recalled the days before Rachel's birth.

Kahlan had been so convinced that Lord Rahl would kill her as soon as the child arrived. Instead he had placed few restrictions on her contact with her daughter, and had made it clear that he wanted her to take a major role in their child's upbringing.

Yet Kahlan's fear persisted.

And there was reason to be afraid.

Alice knew that both she and her mistress were walking a precarious tightrope.

If Darken Rahl ever discovered his wife's plans for their daughter, neither Alice nor Kahlan could expect any mercy.

The ruler might treat his wife with the appearance of kindness and consideration, but plotting to bring the Seeker back to destroy him was treason.

Alice watched her Mistress with concern.

"My lady, you know I will do anything you ask. I would never break my word." She had made the same promise too many times to count.

The years of constant anxiety had taken their toll on her beloved Queen.

Kahlan was frighteningly thin, nervous and increasingly excitable.

She slept very little and was afraid to eat anything unless Alice tasted it first.

It almost broke the woman's heart to see her Lady constantly pacing through her chambers for hours at a time.

Repeatedly telling her companion everything that had to be done for Richard.

Alice sometimes felt that she and Lady Kahlan existed in a separate world, cut off from the rest of humanity.

A world of secrets hanging by a thread of hope.


	3. Obey

**Obey**

It was Rachel's tenth birthday, and the entire Court was celebrating the occasion in the Great Hall.

Her father struggled with the large knife as he tried to cut into her birthday cake.

Finally laughing in defeat, he tossed the blunt knife aside and used his dagger.

Kahlan Rahl watched the proceedings, once again enjoying the irony of her daughter's name.

Darken Rahl would never know that his Rachel's namesake had taken the third Box of Orden away from him, quite literally under his nose.

All during a birthday party for another princess.

Her daughter's name - a symbolic victory in a life that seemed full of defeats.

The Queen reminded herself that the final goal was worth every sacrifice.

**oOo**

Looking over, Rachel caught her mother's expression.

Something was very wrong between her parents and she didn't know how to fix it.

Desperate to please, her love for them both was a constant ache in her chest.

Her mother seemed deaf whenever Rachel mentioned her father.

Her father acted weary and impatient whenever the subject of her mother arose.

His warm embrace brought Rachel back to the present.

"These last ten years have been the happiest of my life, "he said quietly.

Holding her face gently between his hands, he kissed her on the forehead. "Your mother and I could not have asked for a more loving, obedient child."

She managed a smile.

She wanted to make him happy.

She wanted to make them both happy.

She could never confide to anyone how hard it was to placate both sides in a war.

**oOo**

As Darken looked down at his child, he reflected once again on the surprises fatherhood had brought to him.

He had been ready for the opportunity to guide and control.

He had welcomed the admiration and unconditional love.

He had even been eager for the chance to give affection – on his terms.

But what he had not been prepared for were the little things.

The moments that came without warning.

The spontaneous hug.

The quick kiss on the cheek.

The small hands reaching up and cupping his face; pulling on his hands.

The small arms grabbing him about the waist.

The never-ending questions.

Darken was a man who prided himself on being prepared for anything.

But he had not been prepared for this.

The moments that caught him unaware.

The moments that made him weak.

**oOo**

"Your power comes from love but must be used responsibly. As the arbiter of justice and judgment in the Midlands, you must learn to remove yourself from distractions and sharpen your perception. "

"That is, if your father permits you to exercise that authority."

Kahlan looked with approval at her daughter.

Now, at the age of thirteen, with the dark hair and blue eyes of her parents, Rachel was intelligent and eager to please.

A sweet-natured, quiet child who, except for the time she spent on her horse, was usually in the library or her rooms with her nose buried in a book.

_Thank the Creator, he hasn't managed to corrupt her yet._

To Kahlan's chagrin, Rachel still spent at least two hours every day with Rahl at lessons in the library, and went out riding with him several times a week.

It was a relief to know that the long hours now spent with the mother had made her child resistant to the seductive influence of the father.

The girl did have a rather irritating habit of drifting off into a daydream when Kahlan required her undivided attention.

"Always remember, Rachel, that what I am teaching you are secrets that have been passed down from mother to daughter, from teacher to pupil, for centuries. They are not to be shared with anyone. Not with any man, including your father. Do you understand?"

Kahlan tugged at the rada'han circling her neck, a nervous habit that had become more pronounced over the years.

It was if she were trying to constantly tear it from around her neck.

Her hands were never still.

"Yes, mother," Rachel promised, as she had done so many times before.

"Richard will arrive in forty-four years. It is crucial that you know what needs to be done to help him when he gets here. "

"What if something happens to me and I am not here to help him?" Rachel had been worried about this for several weeks.

"You and I are the last Confessors. You will have to take a mate and bear daughters who can be there for Richard. They, in turn, will need to have daughters of their own."

"Taking a mate sounds so awful. Why can't marry a man I love?"

Although Kahlan had repeatedly explained the emotional constrictions of a Confessor's life to Rachel, the child always held out hope that she could avoid what seemed inevitable. Rachel's knowledge of love came from books and songs. Her father was the only man with whom she had ever spent time alone.

"We've discussed this many times, Rachel. You know that's not possible. The father of your children will be confessed. Genuine love can only come from free will. That is one of the burdens of your powers."

"But what if I wore a rada'han like yours, mother. Then wouldn't it be possible for me to be with someone I loved? "

"Do you really think that I have this…thing around my neck to protect a man I LOVE?"

Rachel almost flinched at the venom in her mother's voice.

"If this were not around my neck I would-" Kahlan caught herself before saying too much.

Her husband had allowed her to live, but would be forced to act if faced with an outright threat from his own wife.

"Your father", Kahlan continued, forcing herself to be calm, "is immune to confession."

"I am no threat to him, even without a rada'han, "she lied.

_If I didn't have this cursed chain around my neck I would confess everyone around him. _

_Confess them and order him killed._

Remembering the need for caution, she gentled her voice.

"You need to start growing up Rachel. The world is a hard place, even for the daughter of a King. But, as a Confessor, you will have the opportunity to wield a great deal of influence."

"You will be a person of great importance and that never comes without a high price".

Seeing that Rachel was taking very little comfort in her words, Kahlan embraced her quickly.

_This child could never have endured what I had to suffer as a child._

_What I've had to suffer over the last fourteen years._

_She has to be strong if she is ever going to be able to help Richard._

_I have to make her stronger._

"Please don't cry, Rachel. It never changes anything. No one knows that better than me."

Any further words of comfort were left unsaid as they were interrupted by one of her husband's Mord'Sith.

Darken Rahl demanded his daughter's presence immediately.

**oOo**

Rachel was escorted into the Great Hall where her father was presiding. She noticed soldiers in the room surrounding a man in shackles who had clearly been beaten. He was wearing the uniform of the Third Battalion, but all designations of rank or authority had been stripped from him.

Puzzled as to why she had been summoned, Rachel looked to her father for help.

Giving her a welcoming smile, Darken gestured for her to approach his throne.

"Rachel, the man you see before me was caught carrying a message we believe was meant for a remnant of the resistance. There are very few who oppose me now, but we must always be vigilant."

"Yes, father?" She was still perplexed as to what any of this had to do with her.

Her father continued, "This man continues to say, even after questioning by my Mord'Sith, that he had no knowledge of what he was delivering, or to whom."

"Rachel, I want you to look at this man, ask him what he was doing and tell me if he speaks the truth."

Rachel turned to look the battered soldier in the eyes. She felt the now familiar sense of inner calm as she gathered her power.

She did as her father requested.

The man returned her gaze, although one eye was almost swollen shut.

"He's lying, father."

Her father spoke to her in a soft voice, "Rachel. I have to know the truth. If he won't tell me then you know what you have to do. The lives of all of us are at stake."

Panic welled up in Rachel's chest. She had never confessed anyone in her life.

She did not know this man.

Did he have a wife or children?

But she wanted to please her father.

If he said they were in danger she had to believe him.

"Rachel," her father's voice was deceptively gentle, "I'm waiting".

Rachel approached and placed her hand around the prisoner's neck. She released her control over her magic. Blackness swirled in the man's eyes as his head jerked back from the impact. He dropped to his knees before her.

"Command me, Confessor."

Rachel froze.

She had absolutely no idea what she was supposed to do next. Every lesson her mother had taught her flew out of her mind when faced with the reality of what she could do to another human being.

Her father quietly told her the questions to ask and she repeated them mechanically. The man, gazing at her in mindless adoration answered every question.

Weak and dizzy, Rachel turned back to her father. She couldn't see him clearly, her eyes blurred by tears.

She fought to control her emotions.

Darken Rahl regarded his daughter thoughtfully. It would be interesting to know the full extent of her powers, even at such a young age.

The most powerful Confessors could make a confessed person die instantly just by commanding it.

The man would have to be killed anyway.

He wondered if she could do it.

Rachel returned her father's gaze.

Unsure, confused.

_Please, please, let this be over. _

After contemplating his daughter's silent plea for a few seconds, Darken turned back to the man in front of him. "Take him back to his cell. I will deal with him later."

There was no sense in rushing things he told himself.

She was still so young.

Still weakened from confession.

He tried to forget the grief he had seen in Rachel's eyes.

She would have to become stronger if she was going to be of use to him as the Mother Confessor.

"Thank you, Rachel. You have done very well. You are free to go back to your studies now."

Rachel excused herself from her father's presence and turned to exit the hall. She had barely reached the outer passageway before she was violently ill.

Her stomach heaved until she could bring up nothing but bile.


	4. Duty

**A/N: Thanks and great appreciation to my Beta's melt_in2_me and pristineungift.**

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**Duty**

"Mother, you've told me the steps I need to take when Richard appears in the future, but you never tell me exactly what will happen after that. Just that Richard will return to us. What exactly does that mean?"

As much as she loved spending time with her mother, fifteen -year old Rachel was tired of being cooped up inside for days on end.

It was bad enough the bitterly cold weather forced them to stay inside. Kahlan insisted on conducting her daughter's instruction only in the privacy of the Queen's chambers.

Rachel no longer thought about helping Richard return and save the world as a glorious adventure.

It was now her duty.

A duty she was never allowed to forget.

It was a matter of love and respect. Not for Richard, but for her mother.

Her mother was trying to explain.

"It means, Rachel, that the magic released from combining confession, the Boxes of Orden and the touch of an agiel will allow Richard to return. You already have the instructions as to where he will appear"

"But return where? If he's going to be here in forty-two years and I help him through the ritual, then where is he going to go when the magic works?"

"Back to where he was when he was taken from me," Kahlan was trying to control her impatience. Why did Rachel insist on asking these tiresome questions?

"But when?" Although this was the first time Rachel had posed the question, it had been bothering her for some time.

There must be some part of the plan that she couldn't understand. She just needed her mother to explain it to her.

Kahlan was always reluctant to discuss what would occur after the Seeker's momentous return.

The girl always wanted to know more about what had happened the night Richard had vanished.

More than she needed to know.

"Were you with Richard when he disappeared?"

"Yes, Rachel. I have told you many times. It was horrible. Just think about it. The most important man in the world. The man sent to save the world, and I could do nothing to stop him from being taken from m – from us."

Kahlan was pacing now, pulling at the collar that imprisoned her powers.

Rachel hated upsetting her mother, but this part was so confusing. The entire plan itself bewildered and frightened her. She worried about bungling the magical ritual in some way.

She often lay awake until the early hours of the morning, repeating all of the steps to herself.

Her mother had warned her against writing anything down.

"Were you already married to father when Richard was taken?"

"Not yet, "Kahlan said tersely.

"I'm sorry, mother, but I'm just trying to understand. There's so much that still doesn't make sense to me, no matter how hard I try."

"Rachel, strong magic is not always predictable. But, I promise, if you do as I've explained, everything will work out for the best. "

"But mother, if Richard comes back to you at the same time he disappeared, then what –"

The girl faltered slightly, desperately trying to get her thoughts in order.

"Will you marry father** after** Richard comes back?"

Kahlan sighed with exasperation. "Rachel, like I've always told you, you don't need to worry about what will happen. Everything will be fine."

"Does that mean I stay here when Richard returns to you?

Rachel felt stupid asking this, but she could never quite figure out what part she would play in events once she had followed her mother's instructions.

"Please, Rachel, That's enough. I have a headache and I need to rest. I wish I could make you understand that this is the most important thing you will ever do in your entire life. Remember - one must always put responsibility to others before one's personal happiness."

Rachel had one more question.

"Mother, why were you with Richard that night?"

Kahlan stopped, looking into the middle distance. "I was his Confessor. He needed me to complete his mission."

She did not meet her daughter's gaze.

Whatever response Rachel intended to make died in her throat as her mother left the room, quietly shutting the door behind her.

Tears of frustration slipped down her cheeks.

A flash of anger shot through her.

_I wish I had never heard of Richard Cypher or the Seeker!_

A traitorous thought immediately followed by guilt and remorse.

Rachel's task was so important to her mother.

To the world.

She couldn't let anyone down.

But at the same time Rachel couldn't ignore the growing sense that there was something her mother wasn't telling her.

She wished she could talk to her father.

But she could never tell her father about Richard.

She had promised.

She might be weak but Rachel always kept her promises.

**oOo**

Later that evening, as she dressed for the evening meal, Rachel continued to mull over the afternoon session with her mother. She wanted to just push all of her racing thoughts aside so that she could enjoy some quiet time with her father.

As she brushed out her long dark hair in front of the ancient mirror in her bedchamber, Rachel willed herself to relax. She enjoyed the repetitive strokes, the pull on her scalp from the bristles.

One hundred strokes.

Every morning.

Every evening.

It was one of her rituals.

One of the few she still controlled.

Unlike her training with her mother.

Or her lessons with her father.

Reading, once one of Rachel's great pleasures, had become part of her daily ritual. Several hours every day with books, scrolls and manuscripts assigned to her by mother, father or tutor.

The luxury of reading something of her own choice, for her own enjoyment, was a thing of the past.

_Pull._

A friend.

Somebody her own age to laugh with, confide in, share secrets with.

There was no room for a friend in Rachel's life.

What a frivolous waste of time.

She had duties to fulfill.

A mission.

_Pull. _

_Rachel, this is the most important thing you will ever do in your life._

_If you love me, you will use your powers to help Richard._

_**Pull.**_

_Rachel, our safety depends on finding out the truth._

_If you love me, you will confess whoever I command. _

_**PULL.**_

Rachel yelped as the brush flew out of her hand. She had yanked so hard the bristles had cut the tender skin. She grabbed a cloth off of her dresser and dabbed at her forehead. It came away spotted with blood.

She noticed that her hands were shaking.

Trying to see how badly she had cut herself, Rachel gazed into the mirror. Fortunately, it was only a small abrasion.

The mirror was so old that the glass pooled and rippled at odd angles.

When she looked into it a certain way, like now, there appeared to be two Rachels

_If only that could be true._

_One for each parent._

_But after that, what was left for her?_

_What would be left __**of**__ her?_

_

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_

**Feedback, comments and constructive criticism are always welcome. Positive comments make me happy and give me encouragement. Constructive criticism helps me to become a better writer.**


	5. Loyalty

**Loyalty**

Rachel was trying to focus on the board in front of her, but the small ivory chess pieces kept blurring together. She was still so exhausted and confused by her afternoon lesson with her mother that it was hard to think about anything else.

"Chess is like life, Rachel, " her father's soft voice washed over her. "Always remember that every move, not matter how insignificant it might seem at the time, can have grave consequences."

Darken had been teaching his daughter over the past few months, telling her that everything one needed to know about strategy could be learned by mastery of the game.

Although a blizzard was blowing hard against the windows, the blazing fire made her father's study warm and comfortable.

"And how is your instruction going with your mother?" her father queried as he studied the pawn in his hand, deliberating over his next move.

"Everything is fine! Is there any reason it wouldn't be?"

Darken glanced up sharply, surprised at his daughter's tone.

It never ceased to amaze him that two such strong- willed individuals as he and Kahlan had produced such an obedient and compliant child.

He loved Rachel but often wished she would show a little more - spirit.

While he could make allowances due to her youth, he had little patience for weakness.

He was increasingly troubled by Rachel's emotional reactions whenever he found it necessary to have her confess a prisoner. She would have to become stronger if she were going to stand by his side as the Mother Confessor.

"None at all" he responded smoothly, the corner of his mouth quirking up ruefully in an expression familiar to her since childhood.

Anxious to change the subject, Rachel stood and began walking around the room, suddenly feeling jittery and restless. Her glance happened to fall on a gleaming sword mounted on top of one of the cabinets. She had never paid any attention to her father's weaponry before, but for some reason this blade beckoned to her.

Darken came over and cupped her shoulders with his hands.

"That ," he said, with satisfaction, "is the Sword of Truth."

"Richard Cypher, the so-called Seeker of Truth, tried to kill me with that sword. But now he's dead and it belongs to me."

As did Richard's other, most valuable possession.

Darken felt his daughter's shoulders go rigid under his fingers at the mention of Richard's name.

She had clearly heard that name before_. _He fought with the anger, bitterness, and jealousy that always washed over him at the thought of his wife and brother together.

Although Richard's name was never spoken between them, Darken was a realist. He knew that Kahlan must have at least mentioned his brother's name to someone over the years.

He stepped back, "Your mother has told you about the Seeker, hasn't she."

It wasn't a question.

"Yes", after a slight hesitation, Rachel decided that an acknowledgement of a childhood bedtime story would be harmless.

"Just some stories about him, fairy tales really."

"Did she tell you that she was in love with him?" Darken struggled to force the words out through the hatred lodged in his throat, but he had to know.

Stunned, Rachel shook her head.

"No," she whispered, "just that she was his Confessor."

Darken considered her thoughtfully. "She agreed to marry me after he died. I offered her everything. I had always loved her. I thought…I hoped that she would eventually come to love me as well. But I was wrong."

He turned from her and sat down wearily, hands covering his face. "I don't know what more I could have done. "

He hoped his display was convincing enough to touch his daughter's tender heart. Darken suspected that the conversations between his wife and Rachel may have consisted of more than childhood fairy tales.

He was curious to know more.

**oOo**

Rachel felt a stab of pity for her father.

She walked over to him and sank down to the floor, putting her head against his knee. He reached out to stroke her hair.

"Despite all I have achieved, my brother has always reaped the glory and attention."

_Brother! _

_Richard was her uncle? _

_Her mother had never said anything about being in love with the Seeker._

Rachel's mind was reeling. She looked up at her father. "Does my mother know that Richard Cypher is….was your brother"?

Darken suddenly found it hard to breath. The faint suspicion he had harbored just a few minutes ago blossomed into certainty.

_Richard was alive!_

_What did Kahlan know about his brother? _

_What did Rachel know?_

"Does your mother believe that the Seeker is alive"? Although her father's voice was gentle, the girl had never seen his eyes so cold.

Not toward her.

Rachel was paralyzed by uncertainty.

By guilt.

By loyalty.

By love.

For both of her parents.

Unable to speak, she looked down at the floor.

"Rachel," her father's voice wrapped over and around her like a velvet shroud, "if Richard Cypher is alive, my life is in danger. You need to understand that he will stop at nothing in order to destroy me."

He cupped her chin in his hand, tipping her face up to his.

_Mother, when I get bigger I am going to help Richard kill the evil king._

_What had she done? What had her mother done?_

"You are supposed to be able to know if people are telling you the truth, child. What does your power of confession tell you when your mother talks about Richard Cypher?"

She couldn't look away from him.

Shoulders slumped, she shook her head, "I don't know. I never asked."

_She didn't want to know!_

**_oOo_**

_The girl was lying!_

Making a determined effort to control his rage at Rachel's deception, Darken stood up so quickly that she fell back against the seat. He strode over to the fireplace without a backward glance.

He gazed into the flames, the glow from the fire surrounding him and casting a flickering silhouette against the marble floor. He appeared to be clothed in black rather than red.

As the roaring in his ears subsided, Darken became aware of quiet sobbing behind him. He refused to turn around.

Refused to offer her any comfort.

He slowly unclenched his fists, vaguely surprised to see that his palms were bleeding. Somewhere, somehow, Richard was alive.

Darken acknowledged the fear roiling beneath the rage.

He had to know more.

He turned to Rachel. Her shoulders were shaking, her head cradled in her arms.

He walked over to her, once again sitting by her side. It was important that he not let anger cloud his thinking.

All of his life, from his earliest memories of his father's rejection, Darken Rahl had thirsted for power. That desire had intensified after he had learned about his father's younger son and the prophecy.

But having obtained it, he had learned that power along could not fill the aching void at his core.

An emptiness that dominion over an empire could not touch.

An emptiness that demanded admiration, unconditional love, worship.

He had once hoped his marriage would provide him with that solace.

The marriage that had consolidated his power.

The marriage that had aided in quieting the resistance by giving him the legitimacy of having the Mother Confessor at his side.

The marriage that had given him a wife who loathed him.

The marriage that had also given him this one child, whatever her frailties.

In ways Darken did not like to admit, Rachel was all that he had.

The only source of warmth in his life.

In spite of everything, his love for her was genuine.

If this child no longer loved him, if she turned against him, he was truly alone.

His parched soul needed that unquestioning adoration. It was a weakness, he knew. But here, in this room, it was a weakness he was forced to acknowledge.

Rachel may have deceived him, but she was incapable of malice or cunning. She could not be aware of the possible consequences.

He had to believe that.

Darken knew how much Rachel loved her mother.

He was a possessive and jealous man, but he had never come between them.

Reaching out again to his daughter, Darken touched her cheek, this time with true regret.

He had witnessed Kahlan and Richard's mutual obsession. It was entirely possible that his wife was clutching at straws, telling Rachel wild stories based on hope rather than fact.

However, there was only one way to be sure.

If there was a chance Richard could come charging back into his life, then Darken intended to do everything necessary to protect himself.

Pulling Rachel against his chest, Darken murmured works of comfort.

He told her he loved her, that he would always love her; that he would always protect her.

He didn't press her further.

He didn't accuse her.

His daughter now understood her uncle was a threat to her father. That might be enough.

Rachel needed a gentle hand guiding her, an understanding ear.

Someone always ready to listen to her problems.

He would continue to provide the love, gentleness and understanding.

He would watch and wait.


	6. Dreams

**Dreams**

_She knelt in front of a handsome young man, her hand clasped around his neck. _

_Rachel knew this was Richard, the Seeker she was destined to help through confession. _

_His eyes were glowing. Between them sat three jeweled boxes. The white glow of magic surrounded and engulfed them._

_There is a flash of jagged lightening and a deafening crack of thunder. _

_Then Rachel was, somehow, just….gone. _

_There was no pain as she felt her body, her Self, everything that was Rachel, dissolve into nothingness. _

_Yet Richard and a woman still knelt together as she seemed to float above them._

_The young woman in white was Rachel's mother. _

_She looked so young. _

_Kahlan and Richard gazed at each other, their eyes lit from within, the circle of magic growing and expanding around them. _

_It was the most beautiful thing Rachel had ever seen. _

_Without warning, great hawks swooped down on the pair. Rachel tried to warn her mother but could form no words. _

_The birds transformed into women. _

_Mord'SIth. _

_Just then, a larger hawk descended, taking on the younger form of her father. Shouting, he strode toward the Seeker and her mother. _

_Rachel felt a frantic need to warn him, too. _

_Something terrible was going to happen but she was powerless to stop it._

_She no longer had a body or a voice. _

_Her father picked up the Richard's sword and plunged it between the boxes, his face twisted with rage. Everything exploded in green and white flames, throwing him into the air. He was burning, screaming, in agony. _

_Rachel wailed soundlessly with him. _

_The world went suddenly quiet as his body fell to the ground. _

_Destroyed. _

_Her mother and Richard turned to each other and Rachel saw everything. _

_The love, devotion, and loyalty. _

_At that moment, for the two of them, no one else mattered._

_Rachel's grief for her father was unbearable. _

_She looked again at the Seeker and her mother, seeing more than their shared love. She saw relief and the joy at her father's death._

_Then - nothing._

_Rachel did not exist. _

_She had no meaning. _

_She would never exist._

**_oOo _**

"What's wrong, my Lady? Wake up, Sweeting! You about frightened me to death with all of your carrying on!" Margaret, Rachel's nurse since childhood, cradled the young woman in her large warm arms.

"It's over now. It was just a terrible dream. That's all, my darling. It's not real! It's over."

Rachel gasped and sobbed. Her throat was raw, her heart pounding, her nightshift soaked through. "No, you don't understand. I have to go. I have to stop them. I have to stop all of it before it's too late. Where are my clothes? I have to leave now". Hysterical, she tried to pull away from the woman's comforting embrace.

"Young lady, it is three in the morning and freezing outside! You are not going anywhere. Your father would have my head and worse if I let you leave!"

_Her father! Was he still alive?_

Rachel almost sobbed with relief, but then, maybe her nurse didn't yet know what had happened. "My father, is he here? Is he all right? Are your sure?"

"Of course he's all right, lass! He came up to say good-night to you not five hours ago." Margaret was becoming more worried by the second. What was wrong with the poor child?

As her breathing slowed, Rachel began to shiver. It was so cold. Why was she so cold?

She began to notice her surroundings.

She was in her bedroom.

Everything was as it should be.

Yet, somehow, everything was wrong.

"I'm getting your mother. Right now!" Margaret marched for the door.

"No!" Rachel almost shouted. "You're right. I had a bad dream. I'm fine now".

The old nurse looked doubtful.

"Please don't bother my mother. You know she never gets enough sleep. Let her rest. Please." For some strange reason, Rachel did not want her mother by her side tonight.

Margaret finally moved away from the door and went over to the wardrobe. Pulling out a clean nightgown, she strode over to Rachel. "Here now, let's get you into something clean and warm." Rachel didn't protest, reassured by the maternal fussing. She let herself be clothed and comforted.

With Rachel finally warm and sipping on warm cider, Margaret turned to leave.

"Mags, would you mind staying with me – just for a little?"

"As long as you want, lass." The woman who had been always been her mainstay arranged herself on the edge of the bed. "I'll stay here as long as you want."

With the loving presence of her nurse beside her, Rachel tried to settle down to sleep. But the sharp edges of her dream still pricked her mind.

She was ashamed to admit that she was scared.

How could she explain to Margaret, to anyone, that if she closed her eyes she was afraid she would disappear?

**oOo**

"Richard!"

Kahlan jolted awake from the dream that had tormented her for years.

Her love was lost in a barren wilderness.

With him was a blonde woman clad in red leather.

Mord'Sith.

Kahlan didn't recall ever seeing the woman before, but she could have been one of those who attacked them in West Granthia on that terrible night sixteen years ago.

Richard was looking for Kahlan, calling her name. She reached out to him, sobbing, but she couldn't move and he never heard her.

The distance was so great.

So hopeless.

There was never an end to the dream. Only the desolation of realizing, yet again, that Richard was not with her.

Richard would never be with her.

Unless - her one desperate plan succeeded.

The hope that the child she had conceived in hate would reunite her with the man she so desperately loved.

Without that hope Kahlan could not have found the strength to go on.

Closing her eyes and pressing her cheek against the tear-soaked pillow, she tried to return to Richard, if only in her dreams.

**oOo**

Darken Rahl lay sleepless in the canopied royal bed.

Alone.

He had curtly dismissed Mistress Theta, the young Mord'SIth who was his current favorite. In her arms he found physical release, but no comfort.

She served him because he was the Lord Rahl.

Just as she would serve his little brother if he became the Lord Rahl.

It would make no difference to her.

He, too, remembered that night almost sixteen years ago.

The night he had won everything, or so he had once believed.

The death of the brother who had haunted him for more than twenty years.

The woman his brother would never have.

The death of the Wizard who had brought him so much pain.

_Such a triumph! _A wry smile twisted his lips.

_A wife whose cold body froze him out of her bed years ago._

_A frail child that reacted like a startled fawn at the slightest frown._

_A reed too slender and weak to carry the future of his empire._

_A Confessor afraid of her own powers._

_And now, the very real possibility that the Seeker was still out there, somewhere, waiting to emerge from the shadows._

But even that was not all.

Darken turned to consider the empty space beside him.

Where a woman should have slept.

A woman with fierce eyes and golden hair.

A woman he would never speak of to anyone.

Richard was not the only person who had disappeared that violent night.


	7. Responsibility

**A/N - This is a transitional chapter. The plot will begin to move more quickly beginning with Chapter 8. Again, thanks to all of you who are reading this. I know that this story is not the usual on this site in terms of pairing and genre. **

* * *

**Responsibility**

It was the earliest, warmest spring in memory. The lengthening days were full of sunshine and activity as everyone in the palace sought an excuse to spend as much time outside as possible.

Although her father took his stallion out for a vigorous ride every day, Rachel rarely accompanied him anymore. He occasionally reminded her of the importance of the next Mother Confessor being visible to her people, but usually made no comment.

Her father had never mentioned Richard, nor made any reference to their conversation of the previous winter, treating her with the same affection and warmth he had always displayed. The same could not be said about his attitude toward her mother. Rachel's sixteenth birthday celebration two months earlier had been excruciating. The occasion always required a joint appearance by her parents and the vibrating tension between them had been palpable.

Her father would once have complimented her mother's appearance and inquired after her health. This year he had barely acknowledged his wife. It was impossible for Rachel to ignore the hooded glances her father cast at her mother, but Kahlan appeared to be totally unaware than anything might be amiss.

Rachel feared her verbal blunder with her father last winter had put her mother in jeopardy. And yet, her father's warnings from that same encounter added to the young woman's growing doubts about her mother.

Navigating the emotional distance between Darken and Kahlan had become second nature to Rachel. It was an instinct honed since childhood. But, with every passing year, each parent demanded more of her at the expense of the other. She didn't know how long she could maintain the delicate balancing act.

Today, Rachel was determined to put such worries aside. The day was just too lovely to be shadowed by the simmering discord between her parents. Grabbing a tome of epic poetry from the library, she wandered outside, looking for a quiet spot where, at least for a few hours, she could lose herself in another world.

Seeing her mother, Rachel walked over to her. Kahlan, accompanied by Alice, was in the garden, cutting flowers to fill her chambers. "Mother, it's so good to see you outside. The garden has been so beautiful this spring. I'm glad you are finally able to enjoy it."

Kahlan had been confined to her rooms with a mild fever over the past three weeks. Even though she had visited her mother daily, Rachel was still shocked to see how pale and wasted she looked in the bright sunlight. Her long, once lustrous hair was now dull and lifeless.

While still a striking woman, the years had turned Kahlan's beauty brittle and sharp.

Rachel felt a surge of guilt. She had avoided being alone with her mother during the past few months. She couldn't explain why, although disconnected fragments of her nightmare still haunted her.

She knew it was silly.

Her mother returned her daughter's smile, holding out a welcoming hand. "Darling, it's sweet of you to worry about me, but I'm fine. It is good to feel the sun though." Turning to her companion, she handed her the basket of flowers. "Would you mind leaving us for a few minutes?"

As Alice retreated to the other side of the garden, Kahlan turned to her daughter. "It seems as if I never see you anymore. Now that I am feeling stronger, we need to resume your instruction. I think we should start again tomorrow not that I am feeling better."

A wave of exhaustion swept over Rachel. Her uncomplicated joy in the spring day vanished.

"Also, you have to start thinking about taking a mate. You will be seventeen in nine months. Continuing the line of Confessors depends on you." Her mother glanced at the book in her daughter's hands. "What is that foolishness you are reading? Have you finished the Commentaries of Mother Confessor Magda Searus yet? If not, don't you think that is what you should be studying instead?"

Suddenly angered, Rachel turned away. Since it would be highly discourteous to walk away from her mother without a response, she nodded wearily.

Her mother had never been one for small talk.

Finally permitted to leave her mother's presence, the young woman held the precious book of poetry to her chest. It was only a tiny rebellion, but the rest of the day was hers and hers alone. Old boring Magda Searus could wait.

**oOo**

After she re-joined Alice on the other side of the garden, Kahlan expressed her concern. "That girl is almost seventeen and still acts like a child. At her age I knew what it was like to brave the world alone".

"My Lady, at her age you had your sister and your fellow Confessors to help you, did you not?" Alice, who rarely disputed her mistress about anything, felt compelled to put in a supportive word for Rachel. "She is still so young".

During the past few years, the Queen's certainty of impending death had abated. For whatever reason Rahl seemed content to let her live. She knew her husband felt complacent in Rachel's love for him. But, he was wise enough to know that any action he took against Kahlan could destroy that devotion. While the Queen enjoyed the secret sense of power she held over Darken Rahl through his own child, she was aware of the need to be vigilant in maintaining Rachel's loyalty.

"There isn't time for the luxury of indulging her. Rachel has responsibilities and she has neglected them for too long." Kahlan nervously ran her fingers under the rada'han. "There are forty-one years left. We have to make sure that Richard has a Confessor to help him return, whether that Confessor is my daughter, my granddaughter or even my great-granddaughter".

Kahlan met Alice's gaze. "I may not be around to instruct my granddaughter. Everything hinges on Rachel knowing every step of the ritual as if she could do it in her sleep."

Walking back toward the Palace, Alice regarded her mistress with admiration.

She was so brave.

In seventeen years, Queen Kahlan had never wavered in her determination to be reunited with the Seeker.

Alice could only be in awe of a love that strong.

A love that refused to recognize any obstacles.

A love that would let nothing get in its way.


	8. Truth

**Chapter 8. Truth**

Sleet pelted against the windows of her mother's bedchamber. So much ice had built up on the glass that Rachel could no longer see outside.

It must be evening by now.

The fire roaring in the hearth was not enough to warm the cold, drafty room.

Everyone - soldiers, servants, courtiers, even the Mord'Sith who guarded her family with their lives - had sought shelter inside the great palace.

Rachel wondered what her father was doing. She hadn't seen him in almost two days.

She and her mother had been together since the mid-day meal. One more afternoon spent discussing Rachel's powers, her responsibilities as a Confessor, and, of course, her duties to Richard Cypher.

Finally, Kahlan announced that they were finished for the day. She seemed almost happy, smiling warmly at her daughter, "You are going to be a wonderful Mother Confessor, sweetheart. I am proud of the progress you have made."

Pleased that her mother approved of her efforts, Rachel started to ask if she could be excused. She wanted to see her father. Sometimes they had dinner together in his private reception room.

"There is just one thing further we need to talk about before you leave, child."

Rachel wondered if her mother knew she planned to visit her father.

"I've been thinking about who would be a good match for you. We must choose the right man, not only to give you children, but with the intelligence and strength to protect them, and you." Kahlan held out thin hands toward the flames to warm herself.

"Don't I have a say in the man who is going to be the father of my children? Anyway, I am not ready to take a mate." Rachel was shocked at her own temerity. She rarely argued with either of her parents.

"Since you haven't shown any inclination to make that decision, someone must make it for you." Kahlan continued to gaze into the fire.

"And what have you decided, Mother?" Rachel's voice was steady, despite the anger beginning to pound in her head.

"Captain Brandon would be an excellent choice. He is from a good family, he has a good position. He is cunning and intelligent," her mother said, still smiling. "And, he's handsome."

"He is **also** cruel, malicious and a bully. Have you seen the way he treats his manservant? Have you ever heard the way he talks to Alice, to Mags?" Rachel's voice shook as she faced her mother. She hated confrontation and avoided it at almost any cost. But she would not be coerced into this travesty.

Kahlan visibly struggled to maintain her good humor. "None of that will matter once you are together. He will be confessed. He will do whatever you tell him."

"I won't do it!" Rachel had never defied her mother before. "Surely I have a right to some kind of life, to some kind of **control** over my life." She needed to get away before the discussion deteriorated any further. "May I please be excused, Mother? I'm hungry and I need to get ready for dinner."

"Oh, yes. With your father, I assume." Kahlan's smile vanished as her voice took on a brittle edge. " I **am **shocked, Rachel. I didn't think you wanted to associate with anyone who was cruel, malicious and a bully. Yet, strangely, those seem to be the qualities you admire most in a man."

For an eternal moment neither woman spoke. A sudden downdraft pushed a gust of cold air into the room.

Finally, Rachel found her voice. "I love my father. He would never do anything to hurt me. I have never seen or heard him do anything to hurt you. Why do you hate him so much?"

Stunned at the words, Kahlan was momentarily speechless. Then rage, disgust and grief, kept at bay for years, swept over her in a nauseating wave. Ignoring the quiet voice of reason in the back of her mind, she strode over to her daughter, grabbing her by the upper arm so hard the girl almost gasped.

"**Your father** ruined my life," Kahlan hissed. "**Your father** is a curse that I fought against for years. **Your father** has kept me chained up in this - hell for the last seventeen years." She yanked at the rada'han encircling her slender throat, so angry now she was beyond fear or caution.

_How dare this spoiled brat taunt her? _

_How dare she love the monster that had destroyed everything precious in her mother's life?_

_If the girl only knew what her father really was, she would understand._

_She would hate him as much as her mother did._

Rachel didn't recognize the face that used to be her mother's, now so twisted with bitterness and loathing. She wanted to turn and run, but couldn't move.

Suddenly she remembered what her father had told her that evening last winter.

The evening she first saw the Sword of Truth.

The evening when she first began to suspect that there might be another version of the Richard stories.

"Mother, did you love Richard?" Rachel couldn't believe how calm she sounded. Her heart was pounding like a drum.

Kahlan hugged herself as if still trying to keep warm. "More than you could ever understand. You don't know what love is. How could you, growing up with that - **him**."

Rachel refused to respond to her mother's insult, but kept pressing for answers. "How do you know what happened to Richard that night?"

"Your father had me thrown into his dungeons. There was a witch woman there. Her name was Shota. She had the ability to see through time." Kahlan's voice had taken on an odd chanting cadence. "Rahl believed Richard to be dead. I did, too. It no longer mattered to me if I lived or died. There was no hope. But Shota told me the truth. She gave me hope."

Rachel asked quietly, "And what hope was that, mother?"

Kahlan seemed to have forgotten there was anyone else in the room. She began to pace, shaking her head, a slender hand around her own throat.

It was a relief to finally say the words.

To reveal the truth to her child.

To finally make her understand.

"The hope that Richard was still alive. The hope that, with the help of a Confessor, Richard could return to me. The hope that when he appeared in the future that same Confessor would do what was necessary to make it happen. A Confessor who would know what Richard needed."

Rachel felt like she and her mother were in some type of dream. Every word exchanged between them seemed somehow pre-ordained.

"Mother, what will happen when that Confessor helps Richard return?'

Kahlan turned and stared at her daughter as if she had never seen her before. "Everything will be the way it should have been. Richard, Zedd and I will be together. None of this," the woman waved her hand at the room, at Rachel, "will ever happen."

Rachel's knees turned to water as she listened to her mother describe everything she had seen in her dream.

Almost everything.

"What about father. What will happen to him?"

Kahlan gazed up at the window. The sleet was still pinging against the glass. "Only what should have happened long ago. It's the prophecy. Richard is the Seeker." Her mother closed her eyes, saying aloud the words she had repeated to herself for the last seventeen years. "Nothing can change the prophecy. Richard will destroy Darken Rahl and the prophecy will be fulfilled."

Rachel shuddered, once again seeing her father dying in agony before her eyes.

There was one final question. The one she didn't want to ask. The one she had to ask.

But she was so afraid of the answer.

"Mother, do you love me?"

Kahlan looked at her daughter with childlike wonder. "Of course I love you, darling. How could I not? Without you, Richard can never come back to me?"

The two women faced each other in silence, their shadows flickering against the wall, the crackling flames and the pelting ice the only noise in the room.

There was nothing more to be said.

"Good night, mother." Rachel turned and walked out of the room, closing the door softly behind her.

It was a terrible thing to learn your mother had always been your enemy.


	9. Decision

**Decision**

Rachel leaned against the door to her bedchamber. Her heart felt as if it were about to explode from her chest. Blood pounded in her ears, her mind raced.

Taking a deep breath, she tried to calm herself. It was important to concentrate, to think clearly.

Although it was only early evening, Mags had already been in to turn the bedding down and to build up the fire. Rachel stumbled over and collapsed on the sheets, still trying to grasp the implications of everything her mother had just told her. The uneasiness she had felt around Kahlan over the past two years had been well-founded.

The one question Rachel had not asked her mother was unnecessary. She already knew the answer. The only reason Kahlan had married Darken Rahl was to help Richard.

Her mother had been willing to conceive a child fathered by a man she hated – for Richard.

Rachel was her mother's one throw of the dice. The last chance to return to a life ripped from her, even if it meant waiting for decades.

Even if it meant using her child and her own grandchildren as pawns - disposable _things_ to be forgotten as soon as her goal was attained.

**No. **Forgotten was the wrong word. You can't forget someone who never existed.

_How could anyone do this to their own child?_

Her mother had carried Rachel inside of her body for nine months. She held Rachel in her arms, had comforted her, told her stories, taught her.

Rachel shook her head at her own stupidity.

Her mother had used her. She had molded her daughter into Richard's ally from the moment of her birth. How could the woman have looked at her own child every day while plotting to make sure she would never be born?

All of those bed-time stories about helping Richard kill the evil king! Her mother intended Rachel to be an accomplice in the murder of her own father. She had planned it so carefully, playing on her child's love, her loyalty, her desire to please.

_What total dedication to a single purpose!_

One could almost admire such determination.

But there had always been a weakness in her mother's plan.

The young woman had sensed from childhood that her mother resented Rachel's love for her father. Now she understood why. How her mother must have feared every moment between father and daughter! As long as her father was part of Rachel's life, her mother could never be totally sure of her absolute loyalty.

Rachel's anguish over her mother's betrayal began to ebb as an icy calm enveloped her. Using her fingers to wipe the remaining tears from her cheeks, she pushed herself up to sit on the bed. She was no longer the gullible trusting child. She felt as if she had aged ten years since the morning.

Well, her mother **had** wanted her to grow up.

Thwarting her mother's plan would be easy. All Rachel had to do was just refuse to help Richard when he arrived in the future. He would never know the difference. He would be totally unaware of anything the witch woman had told Kahlan.

Once she had her own children, Rachel would tell them how high the stakes were. They would never want to see their lives or the lives of their children erased.

_Her mother never had to know. _

From this day forward, Rachel could close her ears to Kahlan's constant nagging about Richard, a mate, her responsibilities. She could even assure her mother of her continued loyalty, her willingness to do what her mother desired.

Rachel no longer had any qualms about lying to her mother. Let Kahlan live the rest of her days in the continued hope of Richard's return. It no longer had anything to do with Rachel.

_Her father never had to know._

He would be safe. He could live out his life without the fear that Richard would turn back time and destroy him.

Rachel and her children would be safe. They would hopefully live to see their grandchildren and great-grandchildren. The line of Confessors would be Rachel's descendants. There would be time enough to decide how to handle Richard when he arrived.

_**Her father never had to know!**_

But the cold anger growing in Rachel clamored for more.

She would treat her mother with the same consideration her mother had given her for the last sixteen years.

Rachel had the knowledge her mother had given her.

She had the power of confession.

She didn't need her mother anymore.

**Her father had the right to know!**

Rachel's hands were clenching the sheets so hard her nails were cutting into her palms.

Shouldn't her mother have to suffer for what she had done to her only child?

Shouldn't she be punished?

She wanted her mother to know her plan had failed.

Kahlan Amnell would discover that her daughter was a Rahl!


	10. Betrayal

**Betrayal**

The Mord'Sith standing guard outside the royal apartments watched Rachel impassively as she approached. Another of the red clad women, Mistress Theta, was still fastening her leathers as she emerged from Lord Rahl's suite. She allowed herself a slight smirk as she stared at this timid little creature. Her manner would have been dangerously close to insolence if made in the presence of her master.

Although only a few years older than Rachel, Mistress Theta knew Lord Rahl in ways his daughter never could. She remained careful, never crossing the line into open disrespect.

"I need to see my father," Rachel had always been intimidated by the powerful, arrogant women who guarded Lord Rahl.

She was also aware that they served him in more intimate ways.

Rachel knew her parents had not shared a bed in years, so felt no anger about the fact that he looked elsewhere for physical companionship. It was, however, a part of her father's life that Rachel tried to ignore as much as possible.

"I will inform Lord Rahl of your _request."_ Mistress Theta blocked the doorway with her body to stop Rachel from entering. The warrior was surprised by the calm, cool gaze that met hers.

_Well, this was interesting. _

"Stand watch" she barked at her Sisters, then turned on her heel and re-entered the royal apartments.

After what seemed forever to Rachel, Theta returned. Her face was flushed and her blonde braid more tousled than before. For the first time Rachel noticed a dark red welt patterning the right side of the other young woman's throat beneath her jawline.

Rachel had never held an agiel. Her father had warned her of the unbelievable pain they inflicted. She had, however, seen their marks on the tortured prisoners her father had ordered her to confess.

Somehow she didn't think that this was just punishment.

"You may enter. Your father is waiting."

Rachel, already angry, was further flustered and embarrassed by the entire situation. Nodding curtly, she walked into her father's chambers.

Darken Rahl turned to greet his daughter. Her timing was obviously inconvenient. He had pulled on a robe of red velvet which trailed behind him like a coiled snake. His face was flushed and a welt similar to Mistress Theta's spread over his collar bone and into the hollow of his throat. Through the entry-way into his bedchamber Rachel could see that the bed was in disarray and several pillows were scattered over the floor.

Feeling a rush of heat in her face, she raised her eyes to her father's.

With a pang, Rachel was struck for the first time at how tired he looked. Although still a handsome man, he had aged over the last three years. There were lines around his eyes and mouth she had never noticed before.

His soft voice wove around her, caressing her, but with an undercurrent of impatience. "Mistress Theta said that you needed to see me immediately. As much as I always enjoy our time together, I would have preferred that this wait until tomorrow. However, now that you are here you might as well tell me what is so important."

**oOo**

"Well, Speak!"

Darken immediately regretted his tone as he watched his child. She was white as a wraith and just as thin. Rachel had always been slender, but she looked almost emaciated, dark smudges under her eyes. Her body seemed to be vibrating with nervous tension.

Yet all the time her eyes met his without flinching.

"Please sit. You look as if your legs can't hold you up much longer," he gentled his voice, motioning her over to the couch.

He felt the familiar stab of both tenderness and disappointment as he waited for her to begin.

_If only she were stronger._

_If only she weren't always so afraid._

But underneath Rachel's nervousness, he sensed something else.

_she seemed….different._

_Upset, yes, but not afraid. _

_What had happened?_

Although he had never again referred to their conversation of the year before, he had not forgotten a single word, pause, inflection or expression.

Darken missed very little and forgot nothing.

Rachel sat as he directed, hugging herself with both arms. He settled himself next to her, so close she could feel the heat from his body. She wanted to lean against him to warm herself. She was cold.

She was always so cold.

"Father", she began, "It's about the time you showed me the Sword. There were things I knew. Things I promised not to tell anyone. "

Once Rachel began to talk, the words came pouring out, "I lied to you. I wanted to tell you, but I couldn't. I have to talk about it now. There are things you need to know. "

The corner of his mouth twisted up in a slight smile.

_He knew his daughter would eventually come to him with her secrets._

Leaning forward, arms resting on his knees, Darken soothed his child.

"It's all right, darling. I forgive you. You can tell me everything."

So she did.


	11. Relief

**Relief**

Darken did not pressure his daughter. He showed no impatience.

He listened attentively to the recitation of every secret she and her mother had been keeping from him since Rachel's childhood, careful not to interrupt despite the desire to drag every detail out of her.

His waiting had paid off. He could be patient for a little longer.

The longer she talked the closer he watched every emotion flicker over her expressive face.

Despite her training, Rachel had not yet mastered the mask of stoicism required of a Confessor.

He **was** impressed with his daughter's ability to maintain her composure as she described her mother's treachery and deceit.

He was careful to be quietly supportive.

Calm and compassionate.

He kept his growing rage at Kahlan's duplicity hidden beneath a father's gentle understanding of a child's misplaced trust.

The most difficult thing for Darken to disguise was his overwhelming relief as Rachel described Richard's predicament.

Under the circumstances the whole situation was rather amusing.

His poor brother, forever trapped in a future without the love of his life!

There would be no Confessor willing to help Richard when he emerged years from this night. There would only be Darken's child, her children and her grand-children. Their own survival would depend on preventing Richard from ever returning.

And Richard would be totally unaware of what needed to be done. Shota would be of no help to his brother. The witch woman had enjoyed Darken's hospitality for too long. Even the most gracious host had limits. He looked forward to seeing the look on her face as she watched the unraveling of her loathsome scheme. He would relish those delicious few seconds – before he killed her with his own hands.

Shota would be gone, but Richard would not be alone. He would be surrounded and comforted by a loving family. His niece and grand-nieces would make him welcome.

Perhaps one of Darken's own grand-daughters would confess Richard when he arrived and take him as her mate.

His pure hearted brother committing incest would be so richly appropriate. Not that Richard would care. Once confessed, He would be honored, he would beg, for the chance to wed his own niece.

It was so gloriously ironic, so fitting, that Darken and his descendants would triumph over Panis Rahl's best laid plans.

Darken wished to witness the great arrival, but accepted that fact that he would no longer be alive when it occurred. Despite what his few remaining foes claimed, he never really expected to live forever. Although still healthy, fit and active, he was a realist about surviving for another forty-two years.

One mystery, of course, was the location of the Boxes of Orden.

Rachel did not seem to know anything about it - only that they were necessary for the magic to send Richard back. They must have disappeared with Richard.

Darken would have to leave instructions for his grandchildren. A confessed Richard would be all too happy to tell his mate where to find the magical artifacts.

With the Power of Orden, Darken's family would have total control. It would no longer matter that he had no son.

_Son. _

Darken almost flinched.

_Cara _

How could he have forgotten?

Cara had disappeared with Richard.

Perhaps she had killed him.

Cara had been his most trusted and ruthless Mord'Sith.

His favorite.

Irreplacable.

If she had killed his brother, would she emerge alone to be met by his family?

Darken could not afford to be too optimistic, or too impractical.

Regret crossed his mind as he considered that Richard might have killed Cara. It was surprising how much that possibility stung, even after seventeen years. But his brother no longer had the Sword of Truth. Without its magic, Richard could never have defeated Cara.

But what if Cara and Richard had both survived?

Darken had to face the possibility that his brother might have swayed the Mord'Sith to his side. In the time to come, Richard would be the only male of the Rahl bloodline. That bond alone might compel Cara's loyalty.

What if Cara and his brother joined forces?

The Seeker had an irritating ability to elicit affection without compulsion. As much as Darken wished otherwise, he had to take that fact into account.

Reluctantly, Darken consigned Cara to death.

No one could be permitted to pose a threat to his family, his real family. He would leave detailed instructions as to her fate, making it very clear that his Cara's death was to be quick.

And merciful.

There would be no agonizing death by confession for the mother of his dead son.

_The son Darken had murdered._

Pushing the unwanted memory aside, he turned his mind to the immediate problem.

Dealing with the venomous traitor in his own household.

His loving, devoted wife.


	12. Rage

** Rage**

The winter storm rained sheets of ice down against the windows as Rachel unburdened herself to her father.

It was such a relief to tell him everything. To finally reveal all the secrets, beginning with those long ago bedtime stories about Richard.

"Father, I am so sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I never really understood what it all meant until tonight." She needed to make him understand how everything had happened. "All those years I thought she loved me. But it was all a lie."

Ashamed to meet her father's eyes, Rachel kept her eyes fixed on her lap.

"She only cared about Richard. I was just a way to get Richard back."

The tears she thought were over threatened to return, but she grimly forced them back. For once she would not cry in front of her father. He hated tears.

How could he still love her after everything she had done?

But she was not the one at fault. After all, Rachel had been sworn to secrecy by her mother. She'd only been trying to keep her promise. She had come to her father as soon as she discovered her mother's true intentions. Surely, he would understand that.

It was her mother who was to blame. **She** had planned everything, including the murder of her own husband.

Rachel was innocent.

It was her mother who was guilty of treason.

**Treason.**

There was only one penalty for treason.

The full horror of her mother's probable fate slowly began to dawn on Rachel.

Why hadn't she considered the consequences of revealing her mother's treachery? As a Confessor, she had been trained to make decisions based upon calm dispassionate consideration. Yet tonight she had allowed her emotions to overcome her reason.

Despite Rachel's anger and her deep sense of betrayal, she hadn't wanted – didn't want - revenge.

She just wanted to be free of the secrets that hounded her.

Rachel wanted Kahlan to understand how much she had been hurt.

She never wanted to hear Richard Cypher's name again.

She didn't want her father to die.

Rachel wanted to** live. **

_Was that too much to ask?_

But why hadn't she waited? There was no immediate danger.

Looking up at her father, who had been silent for much too long, she tried to discern his reaction. She was ready to accept his judgment, yet her thoughts raced, scrambling to find a way to control the damage already done.

Father seemed unaware of her, absently rubbing one hand with the other as he stared hard at something she couldn't see. Rachel expected anger, blame, some kind of punishment, but whatever he was thinking about, it wasn't in this room.

"Father?" Rachel said softly, trying to get his attention.

Darken glanced at her sharply, surprised. Since all had been revealed to him, he'd been so consumed by his elaborate plans for Richard's future confession, his regret over Cara's fate and his growing anger toward his wife that he had completely forgotten about his daughter.

Bringing himself back to the present, he smiled at her – warmly, sadly. "Sweet Rachel , don't be afraid. I don't blame you. You should have told me before, but I know you only wanted to please your mother."

His voice was so soft, so reassuring. "I understand how difficult it must have been for you to come here tonight, but you did the right thing." He brushed the back of his hand against Rachel's face, his thumb gently wiping away tears she didn't remember shedding. "Your mother deceived and tricked you for years. She betrayed your trust. I can only imagine how painful that must be."

At these words, despite her best efforts, the tears came in earnest. Darken pulled her against his chest and stroked her hair, pressing his lips against her brow.

Everything he said was true.

It did hurt and she had been deceived.

Yet she found no comfort in her father's arms.

"You've been through so much today. You will stay here tonight and get some rest. There are matters I must attend to, and I must know you are safe. I'll have Margaret fetched for you if you wish." Her father's voice, while still soft, had taken on a hard edge as he released her and stood. He kissed her briskly on the top of her head before turning to walk toward his bedchamber.

"What is it you have to do, father?"

What a stupid question! She knew what he was going to do.

He seemed genuinely puzzled by her question.

"Rachel, just minutes ago you told me that your** mother**, my** wife**, has been plotting my murder and yours for the last seventeen years. She is guilty of treason, and she clearly doesn't care if you live or die. What do you think I'm going to do? You surely aren't suggesting that I just ignore this."

His voice grew harsher as he walked back toward her. "And why, might I add, do you care what happens to her after everything she's done?"

The warm understanding father who had been comforting her only minutes ago had disappeared.

He was right. Why did she care?

Even as she struggled to find the right words, Rachel knew that any effort to protect Kahlan was futile. She had condemned her mother the moment she walked through her father's door tonight. Steeling herself against a growing sense of dread, Rachel fought the desire to say nothing, to quietly look away and let her father walk out without protest or argument.

She had to at least make an effort.

"Father, please, can't we talk about this first? Everything is happening so fast, and I don't understand why everything has to be done so quickly. We have plenty of time."

How pathetic! If she couldn't even form a reasoned argument, how could she expect him to listen to her?

She tried again, "Since it's never going to happen, since you know I will never help Richard, since there's nothing she can really do to hurt us now, why can't we just…" Rachel's voice trailed off in defeat.

He rounded on her, face twisted in anger, "Why can't we just – what? Forget about it? Have a little family **chat** a few times every week as if nothing has changed."

She didn't remember him crossing the room, but suddenly her father loomed over her, fists clenched.

"Or perhaps you're sorry now that you've told me the truth. Perhaps," he hissed, " you would rather be your mother's puppet, helping her plot against me."

How could she possibly make him understand what she didn't even understand herself?

"No. I would never," she hesitated, "…do that. But, I can't help it – I still love her."

When had it become so hard to breathe?

"She's still my mother."

It was the only argument she had left.

The only plea.

The unexpected blow snapped Rachel's head to the side, her face smashed against the corner of a marble table. Unable to catch herself, she fell hard, hitting the cold flagstone. Tasting blood, she blinked, unable to comprehend why the world had tilted on its axis. Her arms wobbled as she managed to sit up, fingers splayed against the floor. The first thing that she was able to focus on was the red hem of a man's robe coiled in front of her.

She raised her eyes to meet her father's.

Staring down at the injured girl, Darken lowered his hand. His knuckles were bleeding. He didn't offer to help , but backed away slowly, as if afraid he might do something worse if he didn't put distance between them.

Rachel stared up in disbelief. She had seen the growing anger in him, but all of her fear had been for her mother, not herself.

**How** could he hurt her?

But there was no mistaking what she saw in those eyes now.

**oOo**

Struggling to master his rage, Darken reminded himself of the need for control.

Reason.

Taking a deep breath, he moved to the other side of the room, turning his back on his daughter.

He didn't understand how she could have said that to him – how she could even think it.

_How could she plead for that traitorous __**bitch**__ of a mother?_

_The viper who sought to destroy him._

For seventeen years Darken had treated Kahlan with kindness and affection.

Had honored her with marriage when he could have taken her any way, and at any time, he desired .

Had respected her wish to be left alone despite his longing for the slightest sign of affection, of warmth. A longing he had been too proud to ever let her see.

In return his wife had used his own child to plot his death.

_Behind that cold unfeeling mask, how she must have been laughing at him all these year._

_Laughing. _

_Ridiculing. _

_Mocking._

Infuriated once more at the thought of Kahlan's jeering laughter, picturing the triumph in her eyes, Darken let loose a primal scream, picking up an ornate chair and shattering it against the wall. The wood spintered, creaking like shards of bone, the destruction sapping the fire in his veins, though not the rage in his heart. Panting with exertion and fury, he closed his eyes, forcing himself back into a semblance of calm.

As his breathing slowed and his mind cleared he once again became aware of his daughter.

She was sobbing in terror.

He noticed the blood on her lip. Her jaw was already beginning to swell.

_Why could she never stop crying? _

_How could he ever have fathered such a weakling?_

_She looked so much like her mother._

_**This**__ was the child he should have killed at birth._

Giving himself no more time for thought, Darken reached over and yanked Rachel up by her arm, dragging her to the door.

"Father - what are you doing? Where are we going?"

_What was wrong with the stupid chit?_

"Isn't it obvious? You and I are going to pay a visit to your mother."


	13. Revenge

**Revenge**

Kahlan Amnell Rahl rarely slept through the night.

Even in dreams she couldn't touch the man she loved. Every night he searched for her, calling her name.

He never saw her, never heard her.

"Richard, I'm here. I'm right here." Kahlan would cry out to him.

Always reaching for him, but never touching.

Always waking to the same bitterness and emptiness.

If only she could sleep without dreams.

On this night, Kahlan was troubled by more than thoughts of Richard. Her earlier argument with her daughter had left her uneasy. Rachel had always been so obedient, so eager to please, despite the infernal questions she never tired of asking. Her recent defiance was troubling.

There was probably nothing to be concerned about. The girl seemed calm when she left Kahlan earlier in the evening.

Rachel promised years ago never to reveal Richard's existence. She had always kept her word . Still, Kahlan had said more this night than she intended. It had been a mistake to openly express her feelings towards her husband. The girl loved him deeply, and his influence over her should not be underestimated.

The queen had never understood how Rachel's inate Confessor abilities seemed to desert her when it came to Rahl.

She should be able to see through his lies.

Mentioning the prophecy to Rachel had been more than unwise. It was stupid. The girl didn't need to know everything.

Only enough to play her part.

Kahlan could not afford to lose control over her emotions again.

Rachel had been upset, yes. But she was loyal.

She loved her mother.

She would protect her.

Rachel would keep the most important secret in the world.

The secret that gave this present life meaning.

This empty life that would hopefully never be lived.

Kahlan's thoughts were interrupted by a loud clatter echoing from the end of the corridor outside of her rooms. Hard-soled boots marched on the marble floor, then halted abruptly in front of the door to her outer chambers.

Hastily pulling on her dressing gown, Kahlan ran to her sitting room to investigate the disturbance. Perhaps someone had managed to smuggle themselves through the magical barriers of the palace, and guards were being dispersed to protect the royal family.

If danger threatened, she needed to have her wits about her.

And her only friend.

Where was Alice?

The loyal woman who never left her mistress's rooms during the night should be with her now.

Kahlan had barely registered Alice's absence before the heavy wooden door to her chambers crashed open, swinging inward on its hinges. Two Mord'Sith strode in and prowled through the room. Finding no obvious threat, they positioned themselves by the entry-way. Captain Egremont, the son of her husband's oldest friend and advisor, was right behind. He strode into the room and faced her insolently, accompanied by two of his men.

Her knees going weak, but refusing to show fear, Kahlan drew herself up. She didn't know what was going on, but she would not be intimidated by her husband's whores or his boorish men at arms.

"What's happening? How dare you burst in here? There is no…"

Her next words lodged in her throat as someone else entered the room. Not with the clatter of hard-soled boots, but silently.

Like a cobra.

Her husband smiled at her benevolently, his blue eyes glinting like ice.

"Leave us," he barked to his minions. "Close the door and wait for my command."

Once they were alone Darken began a slow casual circuit of the room, stopping occasionally to run his hands over the back of a chair, or to trail his fingers across the surface of a table.

"My, things haven't changed as much in here as I would have imagined. What has it been, wife – fourteen years? Surely you could have upgraded the furnishings a little since my last visit. Your allowance has certainly been generous enough."

He sounded almost regretful.

"I am disappointed."

Darken continued his slow perusal of the chamber, finally turning toward her with his hands clasped behind his back.

"I seem to have disturbed your rest. I see you so rarely. I do not know what hours you keep."

_He was toying with her. _

Something had happened, but until she knew more, silence was the best response.

She glared as he approached her, the corner of his mouth quirking upward in that hated smirk.

"Ah, still the same warm, welcoming smile. I do miss you in my bed, Kahlan. I have such fond memories of all of those lazy mornings lying next to you, planning our happy future, discussing our hopes and dreams for our daughter. I think of those days often. Don't you?"

Kahlan almost spat as he brought his hand up to her cheek, cupping it gently, stroking her lips with his thumb.

She shuddered.

_Is that what he wanted? _

_No, it made no sense. _

_He would never have brought a small army with him for that._

"It's been so long. Wouldn't you like to rekindle the flame, my love?" He drew the last words out like a caress, but she heard the threat beneath. His eyes above his smile were as cold and expressionless as a predator.

The hand cupping her face tightened like a vise. A gasp of pain caught behind her teeth.

His voice never changed inflection.

"I can see you don't agree. I can't tell you how much that saddens me."

_Dear Spirits what was happening?_

"I think we are missing someone. Where is dear loyal Alice?" Darken turned his head sharply toward the door

"**Now!" **

Kahlan jumped at his barked command.

Captain Egremont entered the room, dragging a sobbing, hysterical Alice.

_**What was happening?**_

"Kahlan, I think that it's time for you and I to have a chat about my little brother."

Using the grip he had on her jaw, Darken shoved his wife down into the nearest chair. He released his hold on her face only to tangle his fingers in her hair, roughly pulling her head back, forcing her to look up at him.

_His brother?_

"I don't know what you're talking about. You never told me you had a brother." Despite the panic beginning to crawl up her spine, her voice remained steady.

"Oh, Kahlan, you **are** a faithless lover. To forget the man you once swore to love for all time. You do remember him don't you? Richard Cypher."

_She didn't believe it._

"That's impossible. Richard's brother was Michael Cypher, and he's dead,"

Kahlan **would** not believe it.

"You could never be Richard's brother!"

The thought made her physically ill.

Her Richard shared nothing with this demon.

Finally yanking his hand away, Darken stepped back from her.

The mask of geniality had vanished.

"I assure you I am very much alive, and intend to remain so, despite your determined efforts to bring about my untimely death," Darken regarded his wife with growing disgust.

Keeping her in suspense had been somewhat entertaining, but he was tired of playing games.

Perhaps he shouldn't have revealed his relationship to Richard, but Darken had reached the conclusion that at this point it didn't matter if anyone knew.

His brother was never coming back.

"Oh, Richard and I are indeed brothers, Kahlan," Darken rasped, struggling to master the bitterness in his voice. He would not give his wife the satisfaction of seeing his pain. "My loving father never tired of reminding me of that fact, just as he never tired of boasting to me about the prophecy."

"But," he forced a tight smile, "I destroyed Richard, and I destroyed my father. I took my father's throne and my brother's woman. " These words, repeated to himself so often over the years, calmed and comforted him once again.

Glancing down at his wife, Darken added, almost as an afterthought, "I **did** destroy Richard didn't I, Kahlan? I know you would have told me if there were any chance he was alive."

He softened his voice in feigned sympathy, "You were so devoted to him. You would never have crawled into my bed in exchange for a few hospitals and orphanages if you believed Richard was still alive. Only a whore would have done that. You agree with me don't you?"

Kahlan's shoulders began to shake but she made no sound. She closed her eyes against the damning words as tears tracked down her cheeks.

Darken smiled, his wife's misery feeding the ravenous feeling in his chest .

"But maybe, you didn't tell me the truth, Kahlan," he bent down to stroke a lock of dark hair away from her damp cheeks. " Is it possible that Richard is still alive? Is it possible that you really are just a whore? That you've been unfaithful to Richard all these years? "

Darken paced, running the tips of his fingers thoughtfully against his lip. He appeared oblivious to the anguish and terror of both of the women in the room.

"I know you believed Richard dead when I brought you here. But perhaps someone versed in magic, someone who could see through time, convinced you otherwise during your short stay in my dungeons."

He laughed harshly.

"Now I remember! Shota was my guest at the time. Is it possible she gave you some implausible hope that Richard still lived, that there was a way you could help him. Maybe you and she even came up with a plan. Could that have been the reason you agreed to marry me, instead of your desire to help all those poor orphans?"

Darken fought against the fury that threatened to boil over into violence again. He had lost control once this night. It would not happen again.

Bringing his face to within inches of hers, he snarled, "Kahlan, did you really think you could play me for a fool? I know Richard is alive. Now tell me where he is."

She finally managed to speak, her voice hoarse with tears, but firm with purpose, " I don't know what you're talking about. Richard is dead."

"Kahlan, if you don't tell me where Richard is, Egremont will kill Alice right now," Darken gestured with two fingers at the Captain.

Seemingly out of nowhere the point of a dagger pricked at her maid's throat.

"Richard disappeared years ago. You know that. You arrived seconds afterward. You told me he was no more." Her fingers digging into the cloth of the chair, Kahlan met her husband's eyes without flinching.

"Kahlan, I know Richard disappeared. I want you to tell me where he went. "

"There's nothing more to tell."

"You put such a little value on your friend's life," his voice was softly taunting.

Kahlan was slowly beginning to comprehend the murderous depth of her husband's rage.

He continued to smile, deadly calm. "You really have no loyalty to anyone at all, do you, Kahlan? Not to Richard, not to me, not to Alice. Not even to your own child."

For the first time in their marriage, Darken hated his wife as much as she had ever hated him.

But killing Alice would gain him nothing. She would be needed later. He gestured to his captain to take the dagger from Alice's throat.

He had a far more effective weapon.

"Bring her in," he nodded at Mistress Theta. Within seconds, she escorted Rachel into the room.

The girl's face was filthy and tear-stained, her dark hair tangled about her shoulders. Blood caked the corner of her mouth, and an ugly dark bruise was forming over her left cheek.

Dazed, she looked around the room.

A sleepwalker trying to rouse herself out of a dream.

Or a nightmare.

Darken turned away, almost overcome by a wave of self-loathing.

For a moment he faltered.

But for only a moment.

He would not allow pity or weakness to interfere with this moment of victory.

Darken gazed into Kahlan's eyes, eager to see her reaction to the new arrival.

He was not disappointed.


	14. Traitor

Chapter 14 - Traitor

Kahlan's breath caught in her throat, eyes widening in horror and disbelief as Rachel was brought into the room. The girl's face was bruised and swollen.

What had happened to her daughter?

Briefly, the mother overwhelmed the Confessor.

Someone had hurt her child.

But what was Rachel even doing here?

Her mind still reeling from shock, Kahlan looked over at her husband. The mute accusation on her face shook him to the core.

But his smile never wavered.

Darken would not permit this faithless creature – this traitor he had once called wife – to question his actions.

To blame him.

The guilt was hers.

And the shame.

She had hurt Rachel far more than he ever had.

Darken held Kahlan's gaze with his own, refusing to acknowledge the twisting in his gut. For an endless moment, the unspoken longing and despair of seventeen years vibrated between husband and wife.

"Egremont," Darken turned abruptly to the Captain, relieved for an excuse to escape those accusing eyes, "You and the others wait outside. I'll summon you when necessary."

"Yes, My Lord," the young man bowed and motioned for Mistress Theta to leave with him.

Alone with his wife and daughter, Darken closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He had been so cold – so sure - when he came to Kahlan's rooms this night.

He needed to hold on to that feeling.

That control.

"Why is Rachel here?" Kahlan asked, regaining her self-possession, "If you have something you need to discuss with me, she should be allowed to leave. It's clear that she needs to be attended to."

"That's not for you to decide!" he snapped. It was a little late for her to be playing the loving parent. "Kahlan, our daughter came to me tonight with a burden she has carried for too long. A secret you forced her to keep. She's told me everything, so there is no point in continuing this farce."

Now it was Darken's turn to accuse.

As it should be.

"Tell me, Wife, how could you have ever believed Rachel would carry out your mad scheme to send Richard back to destroy me? " Despite his determination to remain calm, Darken felt the familiar surge of rage running through his body.

"No," Kahlan shook her head, "there was no plan. I don't know why you keep talking about a plan. I trained Rachel to use her abilities, nothing more." She lowered her head, studying her fisted hands, and whispered, "Richard died seventeen years ago. I've learned to accept that."

Darken felt the heat rush into his face.

How stupid did she think he was?

"Whatever wild story Rachel told you was forced out of her," Kahlan continued, once again glaring at him, but now with a slight note of hysteria creeping into her voice. "Look at her! She's been beaten. What have you done to her to make her lie?"

Totally absorbed in their battle of wills, neither parent had yet spoken a word to their daughter, who had taken refuge on the other side of the room, trying to cover the side of her battered face with shaking hands.

But now, crossing over to Rachel, Darken gently placed his arms around the girl's frail shoulders. Something close to grief stabbed him as her body stiffened at his touch. "There's nothing to be afraid of, Rachel," he crooned softly, "she can't hurt you any longer."

His daughter looked at him for the first time since entering the room. "I'm not afraid of **her**, father."

Although stung by the quiet rebuke, Darken kept her in his embrace.

"See," Kahlan cried, grabbing at the slightest advantage," even your precious daughter fears you now. She would say anything to keep you from beating her again."

Darken wanted to snarl back at his wife, but the partial truth of her words stopped him. Rachel had no fear of telling the truth, but he had, regretfully, given her reason to fear him.

Looking at Rachel steadily, he willed her to understand his remorse, his need for her support, "Rachel, tell your mother the truth. Did I force you to tell me anything about Shota, or Richard Cypher, or the Prophecy?"

Rachel leveled a stare at both of her parents.

"No, father, " her voice was barely audible.

"Did you make up any of the things you told me this night?" he asked quietly.

"No, father," Rachel answered, unable to hold his gaze any longer. Despite the tension in the room , Darken felt absurdly grateful when her body relaxed slightly under his touch.

The gratitude turned to cold triumph as he strode back to Kahlan. "Look into your daughter's eyes, Confessor. Even with the rada'han around your neck, you know she's telling the truth," Darken's voice dripped with bitterness.

"Monster!" Kahlan spat back at him.

"Kahlan, your hypocrisy is astounding!" he rounded on her," What kind of mother toys with her own child for sixteen years while plotting her destruction? "

The self-righteous **bitch**!

Did she really believe she bore no responsibility for any of this?

"Perhaps the true monster is the one you see in your mirror. But then neither you nor my brother were ever honest about your own moral shortcomings."

Kahlan looked at him with loathing, yet some voice deep inside prodded her with the truth of his words.

She ignored it, turning her attention to Rachel.

Kahlan beseeched her daughter, "Darling, why are you doing this to me? I'm your mother."

The girl choked back a sob of despair.

"Mother, I'm sorry but I couldn't do it anymore. I am so tired of all of the secrets - so tired," she was frantic to make her mother understand. "I couldn't hurt my father, but I never wanted to hurt you. I was angry, upset. I just didn't think."

Kahlan was desperate now. Everything hung in the balance. She had to do this for Richard. "Rachel – you swore a solemn oath to me."

"I'm sorry, Mother, I'm so sorry. I didn't understand what I was promising." For the first time since joining her parents, Rachel raised her own voice, "it was wrong of you not to tell me what it would mean."

Swift as a cat, Kahlan stood up and lashed out with her hand. Darken grabbed her wrist before her palm could strike Rachel's face.

Kahlan's whole body sagged like a broken doll.

It was over.

The long years of planning, teaching and waiting – wasted.

Because of the selfishness of a spoiled child.

Rachel and her father deserved each other.

Kahlan crumpled slowly to the floor on her hands and knees. "**Traitor!**" she hissed feebly at her daughter. "Do you have any idea what you have done? You've betrayed me, you've betrayed the Seeker, you've betrayed every man, woman and child who have suffered at this demon's hands."

She moaned softly, "You were our only hope, and look at what you've done."

It had all been for nothing.

"Do you honestly believe that this man loves you? That he is even capable of love?" unable to stop herself, swept by both anguish and anger, Kahlan goaded her betrayer.

What did any of it matter now?

"Your father cares about one thing, and one thing only, " Kahlan continued harshly, "he wants power, and will use you in any way possible to maintain that power. You are a **fool **if you can't understand that."

Richard was never coming back to her. How could she bear it?

She wouldn't have to. She would be dead by morning.

Executed.

Kahlan welcomed death. Finally to escape this hated life that held nothing for her anymore. Someday Richard would join her in the Underworld, and she would be his Confessor once more.

But she would not be led off in defeat before flinging one last weapon at his greatest enemy. The one person who had defeated the Seeker.

It was not Darken Rahl.

"I wish to the Creator you had never been born," Kahlan stared evenly at Rachel. There was no mistaking the truth in her eyes.

"I know you do, Mother," Rachel had retreated to a small corner of her mind, the only escape from the quiet, cold words echoing in the room.

Tonight she had seen the truth in the eyes of both her parents.

Darken motioned to Egremont.

Enough was enough. There was no need to make the girl witness any more.

"Take her back to my rooms and see that she's cared for," he instructed quietly. As Rachel was led from the room, he turned back to his wife.

Kahlan had begun an eerie keening that made his skin crawl. She lay on the floor, curled up on her side.

He looked away in distaste. He found it hard to believe that he had once been so fascinated by this woman. Whatever power she had ever held over him was gone.

She was the traitor, not Rachel, and the penalty for treason was death.

Death was too good for her.

Darken knelt next to his wife. It would be the last time they would ever be this close, and he never wanted her to forget it.

In an intimate voice that only she could hear, he pronounced her sentence:

"Although your treachery merits death, I will be merciful. You will want for nothing, but will live in these two rooms until the day you die. By tomorrow morning every window will be a walled by stone. You'll never see the sun again, or draw a breath of fresh air. You and Alice can spend the rest of your worthless lives knowing that you failed, and I have won."

Darken paused, considering, then continued, " if you die by your own hand, be assured that I will kill every member of Alice's family. I want you to have a very long life. For obvious reasons, I can't extend the same mercy to Shota. She will be dead by the morrow."

He reached over and, for the final time, cupped Kahlan's face in his hand. Gently, he leaned into her so close that his lips brushed her ear.

"Just one more thing, my love. I won't forget about Richard. You may once have prevented me from confessing my little brother, but you will never be able to protect him from your own granddaughter. Once Richard provides her with the Boxes of Orden, nothing can stop our descendants from holding ultimate power."

Darken shook his head regretfully at her lack of response.

"I thought that would make you proud, but apparently, I was wrong. You have no family loyalty, Kahlan."

Darken Rahl kissed his wife softly on the cheek, then walked out of the room without a backward glance, smiling as he closed the door behind him.

His wife would finally get what she had always wanted.

She would never have to look at him again.


	15. Memory

**Memory**

Rachel knew she should open her eyes, but it took so much effort. She lay enveloped in comforting warmth, but her mouth tasted of dust, and her thoughts were sluggish and confused.

As she reluctantly surfaced into awareness, voices began whispering to her. At first believing that people were in the room with her, Rachel turned over and pulled the covers over her head. The muttering grew louder. Frightened, still half-asleep, she tried pushing back against the words echoing inside her head, but they wouldn't stop.

_Puppet._

_Fool._

_Traitor._

Shadowy faces took shape behind her closed lids, distorted and hateful, staring at her with accusation and contempt.

Rachel forced her eyes open.

The voices stopped.

It had just been a dream.

None of it real.

Yet something was still not right.

Rachel struggled to take in her surroundings. The bed, comfortable as it was, was not hers. Peering up at the heavy brocade canopy, she recognized the golden threads woven into the deep red material.

The insignia of the House of Rahl.

What was she doing in her father's bed in the middle of the night?

She dimly remembered being brought here by a man wearing a uniform. She knew him, but couldn't remember from where.

Rachel hadn't been in this bedchamber since she was a small child, on those few occasions when she escaped from her nurse, joyously running in to greet her father in the mornings, or to give him a good-night hug. As she grew older, he had gently but firmly put his bed chamber off- limits, although always welcoming her presence in his outer salon.

A vague recollection of being there with her father earlier that evening pricked at her mind.

Or had it been yesterday?

Or a week ago?

She seemed to have lost track of time.

Rachel had come to talk to her father about something very important.

But what was it?

She pushed herself up on her elbows as a woman entered the room.

"Mags?" Rachel queried hopefully. It was hard to push the words out. Her jaw was tight and painful. There was a deep cut on the inside of her mouth.

She must have bitten it.

When had that happened?

"Mags?" she longed for the comfort of her nurse's presence.

The healer approached the bed, a jar of ointment in her hands, "My Lady, your father ordered me to look after you until he returns," the woman's voice was kind, "your face is very swollen. I'm afraid that the bruises will be very dark for a few days. I have some salve and something to help with the pain."

Rachel touched her face gingerly.

"Did I fall?" she asked the woman. The healer looked familiar.

"I don't know, Mistress. I've been ordered to take care of you and make you as comfortable as possible." The healer gently took Rachel's face in her hands and began to examine the damage.

The contact sent a shock through the girl's body.

She felt the blow slamming against her face, the sudden rush of blood in her mouth.

Saw Father looming over her with upraised hand, his eyes glittering with fury .

Rachel was awake now, and there was nowhere to hide anymore.

"Where is my father?" she asked, her voice hoarse from sleep. trying not to flinch from the healer's touch .

"Your father will be here in a few minutes. He had some matters to take care of first."

_There are matters I must attend to, and I must know that you are safe._

_What is it you have to do, Father?_

_You and I are going to pay a visit to your mother._

**Her mother! **

Father had pulled her roughly through the hallways.

He was going to hurt Mother.

No - that wasn't right_._

Her mother had planned to do something terrible to Father.

Then, like a tidal wave, the memories crashed down on her.

Rachel had been standing in her mother's chambers.

There were soldiers.

Mistress Theta.

Alice was crying as Captain Egremont held the point of a dagger against her throat.

Her mother had been beautiful in her defiance.

Vulnerable in her fear.

She could still hear his voice – so soft, so gentle as he questioned Rachel.

_Were you telling me the truth?_

_Did you make any of it up?_

No, Father.

No, father.

Nofathernofathernofather

**NO! **

RacheI had broken her promise.

The secret she had sworn to keep so many years ago.

She had told her father about Richard!

Every minute cruel detail returned to her.

Her mother's grief and despair.

Those horrible words.

_Do you honestly believe that this man loves you?_

_I wish to the Creator that you had never been – _

Rachel grabbed the sleeping potion the healer offered her.

She had to stop the memories.

It was the only way she could survive.

**oOo**

Darken Rahl had not slept or eaten during the last sixteen hours.

He had instructed Captain Egremont and his men as to what needed to be done to ensure Kahlan's confinement, and didn't leave until the final stone shutting out the last ray of light was laid into place.

Then he turned his attention to the witch woman waiting in his dungeon. The spider who, having given his wife hope of Richard's survival, had been crouching in her web for more than a decade, hoping to be freed by the return of his intrepid brother.

He had intended to torture Shota for hours, taunting her with the destruction of her plan. But seeing the witch covered in her own filth, contemptuous of him as always, he didn't waste the time. She wasn't worth it.

Darken had not lost his lightning fast skill with a dagger, and the woman was dead before she even felt the sting of the blade.

He left her lying in her own blood.

Still enraged, coiled with pent up tension, aroused by the smell of blood and revenge, Darken had yanked Mistress Theta into an empty cell, shoving her to the floor. The coupling was savage and brief. The young Mord'Sith, stirred by the same bloodlust – and by ambition - expertly used hands, mouth, tongue, teeth and agiel to bring him to release. He emptied his hatred and bitterness into her.

He didn't want tenderness or gentleness, and Theta would have scorned to show him any.

After they had finished, he rolled off her, panting and sated. The familiar sense of emptinesss tightened in his chest. But there had never been more than emptiness afterward, even in the early years with Kahlan, when he had hoped for so much more.

There would always be emptiness.

It was his constant companion.

**oOo**

When Darken finally reached his own chambers, he found Rachel lying in his bed, lost in drugged sleep.

He wondered if she had slept straight through the last day and a half since Egremont had led her here. Darken had made it clear that Rachel was not to be seen by anyone but the healer and himself over the next few days.

"My Lord, "Darken almost jumped as the healer spoke to him from the shadows, "she did wake for a bit and seemed confused. I gave her something to help her sleep again."

"What did she say to you?" As he addressed the woman who had nursed him throughout his childhood illnesses, he saw her mouth tighten at the question.

It didn't matter what she thought. Years of loyalty to his family, and fear for the welfare of her own, would ensure her silence.

"Nothing really, Lord Rahl. She wanted her own nurse, and asked after you."

He had no intention of allowing Margaret around Rachel until he had a chance to talk with his daughter. Nobody would see the girl until she recovered.

Nobody would be allowed to see what he had done.

Leaving Rachel in the healer's care, Darken bathed and changed into fresh clothes. It seemed as if he had been awake for an eternity.

Returning to the bed, he dismissed the woman and sat down carefully next to his daughter, afraid of disturbing her rest.

Rachel was so motionless that it frightened him for a moment, until he was reassured that she still breathed. He needed to keep her safe.

She was all that remained to him now.

Darken couldn't remember ever feeling so exhausted in body or mind.

So drained.

So lost.

Just then Rachel stirred, interrupting his troubled thoughts. "Stop it, stop it," she moaned, her body beginning to thrash as she pushed the sheets aside, "Please make them stop."

Unsure of what to do, Darken reached out to stroke her hair. He hated feeling so helpless, wanting to ease her distress, but anxious of waking her.

Afraid of what he would see reflected in her eyes.

"**Mags!**" with a sobbing cry, Rachel jerked up in the bed, crying out for the one person who always gave her solace, "I need you Mags, where are you?"

"Rachel**, I'm** here, "Darken spoke quietly, "you're safe." Hearing his voice, her eyes glazed with shock. She recoiled, pushing herself as far away from him as she could.

"I need Mags," whispering now, she looked around distractedly," Have you hurt her? Is she dead? "

What kind of a heartless monster did she think he was!

Stricken, Darken leaned over and tentatively put his arms around her shoulders, drawing her gently to him. "Rachel, I would never hurt Margaret. She's fine," he murmured. To his relief, she did not pull away, but her body was shaking, and he could feel the pounding of her heart against his chest. Gently brushing her tangled hair away back from her forehead, he winced at the sight of her injured face.

Darken could barely remember his earlier anger toward Rachel. All of his emotion during the past hours had been directed against the wife who had tried to destroy him.

But he could no longer ignore what he had done.

Kahlan couldn't be blamed for everything that had happened that night.

He had backhanded his own child to the floor, and then had dragged her to her mother's rooms for more torment.

What had he been trying to prove?

Rachel had already told him every detail of Kahlan's plan. Forcing her into a confrontation with her mother had been needlessly vindictive. In his spiteful desire to punish both women, he dreaded that he had lost the only one who still mattered to him

So much destruction had been wreaked in such a brief time.

So much said and done that could never be erased.

Rachel's small frame had slowly relaxed against Darken as he continued to stroke her wounded face. Pressing his lips against the crown of her head, he searched for the right words to calm her.

She turned her face up to his, one eye swollen shut, the other pupil still dilated from the drug, trying to speak, her voice so croaky it was hard to understand, "My mother. What happened to my mother? Did you …?"

Darken pulled away slightly, cupping her chin gently in both hands, careful not to hurt her. He gazed at her steadily, "She's alive. In spite of everything she's done, she is still your mother, and she won't be harmed."

While that might not have been his original intention in keeping Kahlan alive, it made perfect sense after the fact. He would do everything in his power to keep Rachel from ever seeing her mother again, but there was no need to tell her that tonight.

She sobbed with relief, squeezing her arms around him so tightly it was hard for him to breathe. With her head tucked against his chest, she couldn't see the resentment in his face. He would never be able to accept her continued loyalty to Kahlan.

"Rachel," as hard as it was to force the words out, he needed to say them," What happened the other night, what I did to you, it will never happen again," he felt her catch her breath, then she nodded in understanding.

"And we will never speak of it again."

It was not a request.

"You need to sleep now. We'll talk more in the morning," easing her head back onto the pillow, Darken tucked the bedclothes snugly around her. As her breathing slowed and deepened into slumber, he continued his vigilant watch.

Sleep didn't come so easily to him.

_This was the child he should have killed at birth!_

Guilt was an emotion Darken had never understood, yet his thoughts about his daughter from the other evening horrified him.

After raising and loving his child for all these years , how could he have wished such a thing?

How could Kahlan have told Rachel he didn't love her?

More importantly, did Rachel believe it?

After everything he had done, maybe she did.

But Kahlan was wrong. She had always been blinded by her hatred of him.

Darken knew, better than anyone, the grief of being rejected and despised by a parent you yearned to please. He would never make Rachel feel that way.

She was all he had left.

But she was so fragile.

What would happen when he was no longer around to guide her?

The glorious future he had envisioned for his family could not unfold without the assurance of another generation. Any man who fathered Rachel's children would have to be carefully chosen, and soon.

Darken must be alive to instruct his grandchildren about what needed to be done when Richard arrived.

Things could have been so different!

Once again, as in the dark hours of so many other nights, Darken wished his son were alive.

His boy would have been twenty-one.

A young man.

Ungifted.

But with a younger sister at his side with the power of Confession, his son might have been able to rule. In turn, that son could have been a source of strength and support to her.

A better man than his father.

Darken, who, like Panis Rahl, had denied his son a chance at life.

He wondered now what the boy – the man -would have looked like. Sometimes Darken imagined his son with his own dark hair and blue eyes. But there were other times his son appeared to him with the golden hair and green eyes of his mother.

The woman who had been fiercely loyal.

The woman who was incapable of betrayal.

Darken had never believed in second chances. Not for his enemies, nor for himself.

He would have to live with what he had done to his son.

But he would not fail with his daughter.

He would make it up to her. From this day forward Rachel would have his undivided personal attention.

He would protect her.

He would love her.

He would train her.

He would find the right man for her.

He would make sure she knew exactly what to do when Richard arrived.

* * *

A/N: I just wanted to express how much I appreciate all of you who have been reading this story and leaving reviews. This chapter was very hard to write and I struggled with it for a long time, so I hope it works. Thanks again for taking the time to go on this journey. I hope you think it's been worthwhile so far.

Unfortunately, due to time constraints and her schedule, Pristinelyungifted can no long beta this fic. I want to thank her for all of her help with chapters 4 through 14.


	16. Future

**Future**

_Rachel's mother stood on the brink of a steep cliff, her white dress smudged and torn. She sobbed, reaching out toward the young man on the other side of the deep chasm. _

_He was calling to her, "I'll find a way, Kahlan! Just wait for me. I'm coming to you."_

"_Richard, it's no use," her was voice raw with tears, "there was only one hope and now it's gone. I tried so hard to be strong. But I failed. It's so dark here, and I can't breathe. I can't breathe. " _

"_Kahlan, there's always hope. Don't give up," Richard entreated._

_At that moment, Mother turned and spotted Rachel. glaring at her daughter, Kahlan's expression changed from sorrow to rage, "It wasn't my fault, Richard. It was __**her!**__ She betrayed us." _

_Rachel defended herself, "I didn't want to hurt you. I just wanted to live." She sought to embrace her mother, but was flung away. _

"_Go back to your father. You're no child of mine."_

_Then, without warning, the rocky ground under Kahlan's feet melted into a viscous mixture of dirt, sand and water. Unable to free herself, she began to sink into the mire._

"_Kahlan, don't give up. I'm coming, I promise, "Richard was still shouting - louder now._

_Rachel knelt and grabbed her mother's arms, trying to pull her to safety, but she didn't have enough strength . _

_Father appeared beside her, looking down at both women with an expression of cool bemusement. Turning to him, Rachel begged, "Father, please. She's going to die. You can't leave her here."_

_He didn't respond. Turning his back on her, he strode away, red robes unfurling behind him. _

_Rachel chased after him, but fell further behind with each step. It seemed as if she was trudging through deep sand. Glancing behind, she saw that her mother was gone. The ground on which Kahlan had stood was solid once more. _

_It was as if she had never existed._

_Knowing that it was too late to save her mother, Rachel continued to pursue Father. But the heavy sand was up to her knees, then to her thighs. _

_She couldn't move._

"_Wait for me, Father. Don't leave me! Please –!"_

_Father didn't slow his pace. _

_And he was no longer alone._

_A small child walked at his side._

_A little boy._

_The two figures were disappearing into the distance._

_Abandoning her._

Rachel awoke clawing at the bedclothes, still trying to catch up with her father. Glancing around her room, she tried to comfort herself with the familiar surroundings.

It had just been another dream.

She was in her own bed,Once again emerging from the visions that afflicted her nights since she had last seen her mother.

Since her words had condemned her mother to a living death.

At first, Rachel had been so grateful for her father's clemency, but now she wondered if the swift, sure blow of the executioner's axe wouldn't have been a more merciful fate for her mother.

Her father's decision had not been an act of charity.

At least Rachel no longer woke screaming.

Lying back against her pillow, Rachel wondered if her mother screamed in the night.

**oOo**

"You're very quiet this evening," Darken observed. Rachel was seated across from him at the formal dining table, the torchlight accentuating the soft contours of her face. She had spent the last hour pushing food around her plate and taking occasional sips of the red wine she was now permitted to drink.

After all, next month was her seventeenth birthday.

The sixteenth had been painful enough. This year there was nothing to celebrate.

Rachel had requested that there be no public observance of the event. Surprisingly, her father had agreed, proclaiming that the event would be observed quietly, citing the queen's unfortunate illness.

Since Kahlan had become almost a recluse over the past few years, nobody questioned the change in plans. Most in the palace had suspected for years that the woman was not quite right in the head. There were strange rumors circulating about, but few cared enough to inquire into the matter. Queen Kahlan had never been particularly popular or well-liked with the staff or with any members of the Court.

Rachel pushed her plate away impatiently.

Why they were eating here?

She hated this room, this table. It reminded her of too many meals taken in cold silence over the years, sitting between parents who barely acknowledged one another.

A fire roared in the hearth at the far end of the room, but it gave off little heat. Even though the first hint of spring was in the air, the night was cold.

"I just spoke to you, Rachel. Maybe you didn't hear me," her father added with deceptive mildness.

"I'm just tired, "she muttered, refusing to meet his eyes. " I haven't been sleeping very well. Maybe I'm catching a cold."

"Perhaps," he said quietly, watching her keenly. "Come over by the fire. We need to talk."

Expressionless, Rachel followed him, slouching down in one of the overstuffed chairs placed before the hearth. At least it was warmer over here. She began nibbling at a fingernail, a childhood habit she had resumed.

Her father settled himself in the chair facing hers, making it almost impossible to avoid his gaze without being openly disrespectful.

She knew he was going to start lecturing her again.

"I know that your life has been difficult during these past few weeks," he began, " and I have tried to be patient, but it's time that you start to fulfill the obligations and duties of your position. You need to start - "

With an impatient gower, Darken reached over and pulled Rachel's hand away from her mouth, "Stop that! It's annoying. Straighten up, look me in the eyes, and stop trying to pretend that I'm not in the room. "

His expression softened slightly," What's wrong with you? We need to plan for your future, but you've been acting like a sullen child." Almost wistfully he added, "You used to talk to me about your troubles."

Unfortunately for Kahlan, that was true.

How could Rachel tell her father that the pretense of living a normal life over the last two months was exhausting her?

That she hadn't slept through the night in weeks?

That her mother's anguish filled her dreams?

That she dreaded the inevitability of a loveless marriage to a mindless slave?

That she feared his anger even as her own resentment simmered beneath the surface?

Rachel felt so incoherent when she tried to explain herself to her father.

Enfolding her slender hand in his, Darken noted the fingernails bitten to the quick. The girl was a bundle of nerves.

He was more perceptive than she gave him credit for.

Leaning in closer, he tried to reason with her, "It's foolish to waste time in regret. Your mother has only herself to blame for her fate. She has everything she needs, more than she deserves."

He continued more sternly, "it's time to forget her, and take your place at my side. You are the Mother Confessor now, in all ways. Your duty is to help me, and to make sure that the line of Confessors does not end with you."

Her father's calm, matter-of-fact tone of voice made it all seem so reasonable. From his point of view, she supposed it was. He had simply erased Kahlan from his life, and it was clear he expected her to do the same.

Rachel had learned over the past weeks that no amount of arguing, pleading or bargaining could move him where her mother was concerned. True to his promise, Darken had never again been physically violent toward his daughter. In fact, he was once more the loving attentive parent. But she now knew there were limits to his indulgence.

"Have you read through the list of candidate I gave you yesterday?" Darken seemed eager to proceed to the next problem to be dealt with. "Surely one of these men can meet your exacting standards for a husband."

Rachel nodded glumly, "Yes, I looked at the names. Baron Donel is old enough to be my father, Lord Vito poisoned his first two wives to gain their property, and Captain Brandon is – dispicable. I hate him. The others are almost as bad – they would kill their own families for advancement."

She was horrified. The last words had flown out of her mouth too fast to catch them.

Although his name was never spoken, everyone knew how Darken's father had met his end.

Choosing to ignore her lapse, her father's response was curt, "The Baron is a brave and canny warrior, as are all of the others – strong, ambitious, clever and cunning. All very desirable qualities in a husband, and for the father of your children."

"Father, "Rachel ventured, "I want a man who is brave and intelligent, too, but why can't it be somebody that I at least – like?"

"I would be more than happy to oblige, Rachel, "Darken retorted, "yet I have never heard you mention anybody. You are always telling me who is not acceptable."

She hesitated briefly, then, drawing a deep breath, plunged ahead, "Captain Egremont. I've known him and his family my entire life. He actually reads books and thinks about things, he makes me laugh, I can talk to him and he's always been kind to me," she hurried on, wanting to finish before her father could interrupt, "And he wouldn't have to be confessed. I know my mother's rada'han is not the only one in your possession. Why wouldn't I be able to be with a man I cared about without confessing him?"

Darken stared at his daughter in surprise. She had never mentioned Egremont before, although he knew she was fond of the man in a casual way, and that the Captain had been protective of her since she was a young girl.

He allowed himself a brief moment of compassion.

What she wanted was impossible.

While nobody could replace General Egremont, his son was a worthy successor and had a brlliant future ahead of him. Darken depended on him, and for that reason, could never permit him to be confessed.

"I'm sorry, Rachel, I can't allow that to happen," her visible disappointment pained him more that he wanted to admit, "Egremont's primary loyalty has to be to me. Of course he is charged with protecting my family, but he must be willing to obey my orders without question, and that would not be the case if he were confessed. He would only care about pleasing you."

"But if I wore- "

Darken stopped her, it was best to settle this matter once and for all. "You husband must be confessed. A man intelligent and ambitious enough to be your mate could be a danger to my throne, and to your own children, if he is not totally under your power."

Although he did not express it aloud, the king worried that if anything happened to him, Rachel might not be strong enough to stand up to a forceful man hungry for power. Chaos would result, unraveling all the years of peace that he had so carefully maintained. Such a man would seek to use her children for his own selfish purposes.

Cupping her face in his hands, Darken tried to cheer his unhappy daughter, "Rachel, you are lucky in so many ways. Most daughters of noble families are sent away at a very young age to husbands they have never met. That's exactly what happened to my mother. She died nine years after her marriage without ever seeing her parents or her home again."

"That will never happen with you, "he declared. "**You** will never leave me."

A little annoyed by Rachel's lack of appreciation, Darken dismissed her with a brief hug and a formal kiss on the forehead.

As she left the room, tired and disconsolate, he called after her, "Rachel, before you return to your chambers for the evening, instruct Mistress Theta to attend me. I have need of her services."

**oOo**

Rachel had hardly stepped out of the room before she was accosted by Mistress Theta . Striding up to the princess, the young Mord'Sith, beautiful, imperious and intrusive, remarked that perhaps it was not safe to roam the halls so late at night.

Outraged at the woman's insolence, Rachel was momentarily speechless. It was humiliating enough that her father used her to summon his bedmate for the evening, she certainly wasn't going to be told when and where she could move about in her own home.

"My father wishes to see you in the dining room," she gritted out between clenched teeth.

If only she had her father's way with scathing insults.

The blonde smirked, "I imagine he is bored by now, and ready for more stimulating companionship."

Rachel was not in the habit of using her rank to intimidate others, but couldn't let this pass. "Don't flatter yourself. You're no more important to him than any other whore he's used over the years. He won't even remember your name in a few months," Rachel was shaking, both with anger and indignity.

**How she hated this woman! **

"Oh, little mouse, he'll do more than remember me a year from now, or ten years from now for that matter. Very soon, I will have a place of honor at his side you can only dream of." Theta was so close that Rachel felt the woman's hot breath on her cheek. "The son I carry here," the woman splayed her hand over her belly, "will put you in your place – Confessor."

Without another word, the Mord'Sith turned her back on the stunned girl and strolled toward the entrance to the dining room, already carrying herself like a conqueror.


	17. Return

**Chapter 17 – Return**

Alice first heard the sound as she sat in front of the sitting room hearth, trying once again to coax warmth from the glowing embers.

An eerie laughter that echoed through the eternal twilight of their small world.

For six months she and Queen Kahlan had been imprisoned in these chambers, encased behind solid stone and brick. They were kept from total darkness only by the meager light thrown off by the fire Alice struggled constantly to sustain in the drafty hearth, and by a few smoking torches placed into the damp walls.

At first, the guards had brought the women fresh provisions, including food, water and wood for the fire, three times daily. Clean linens and clothing were provided weekly. But as the days wore on, the food became drier and harder, the water was delivered less often, and the linens were more stained. Fuel to keep the fire going became harder to come by, resulting in the rooms becoming cold and dank. The two women had already found it necessary to break up some furniture to feed the flames.

Alice thought spring must have arrived, although she had lost count of the days. The change of the seasons made little difference here.

Once, very soon after they had been confined, Alice had requested books and paper. Perhaps, at least, they could have something to distract them from the monotony of their days, even if only for a short time. She had been curtly informed by the guard that she and her mistress were already living in the lap of luxury, and would have to entertain themselves as best they could.

Small gaps cut high in the walls opening out onto the inner corridor provided the prisoners with musty and stale air. The hallway was always eerily quiet. Alice suspected that the entire wing had been closed off from the rest of the palace.

The unseen servants who delivered the daily necessities had been forbidden to talk to either Alice or Kahlan, except for barked commands and terse replies. Every day the door would be shoved open only as far as necessary to push the day's necessities inside the rooms before slamming shut.

After a time, Alice began to fear that Rahl intended to kill them through slow starvation, cold and illness. Hidden away as they were, forgotten by the world, he could have assumed that nobody would be very curious as to their fate. For years, Kahlan had kept to herself, with Alice as her sole companion.

Rachel would come to her mother's room for her lessons, but Kahlan never took meals with her husband and child. Her only public appearances for the last three years had been at Rachel's birthday observances.

But then, two months earlier, Kahlan had again sickened with the fever that had afflicted her the summer before. She had never fully recovered her strength from the earlier bout with the malady. Surprised that her request for herbs and other remedies was granted, Alice managed to nurse her mistress back to some degree of health.

If that could be considered a blessing.

Alice realized then that Lord Rahl didn't intend to actively pursue his wife's death. It appeared more likely that he had to be reminded of Kahlan's existence from time to time.

Alice had also dreaded that the king would take pleasure in visiting his wife on occasion in order to taunt her with the utter ruin of her hopes. But he had never come to her rooms since that terrible winter night, and had only sent one brief written message - to inform Kahlan that the witch woman, Shota, had met with an unfortunate accident in her cell, and had not survived.

So the days passed drearily and hopelessly – on and on and on.

While Alice was able to busy herself by cleaning, fussing over Kahlan and devising countless little chores to perform, the queen had recently sunk into such apathy that it was difficult to rouse her to do anything.

Most days Kahlan never rose from her bed, but would lie awake for hours, staring blankly into space. It was an effort to get her already painfully thin mistress to eat.

Since Kahlan rarely talked, Alice had to provide herself with enough distraction to get through the endless days.

It had not always been like this. The queen's initial reaction to her imprisonment had been much different.

During those first surreal weeks, Kahlan had raged. Her hair wild and disheveled, she refused to change her clothing. Prowling through the rooms like an avenging spirit, she shouted incessant curses down on her husband and daughter.

The floor became littered with broken objects she had thrown against the walls.

Oddly enough, the first things Kahlan destroyed were all of the mirrors. "I don't want to look at myself. I can't look at myself!" she had screamed.

Alice never understood the reason, but had given up trying to understand much of what her mistress did. She loved the queen and tried to serve her in whatever way she could.

But in those first few days, Kahlan's fury terrified even her most loyal companion.

"I knew **he **was a monster, but how could my own child turn on me? No! She's not my child. She was never my child. She was always his creature," Kahlan would mutter, pacing from one room to the next – back and forth, night and day.

"The evil was always in her blood, Alice," the queen would fume, often speaking so rapidly her friend could hardly understand her words. "I should have known it from the beginning. I should have known that anything touched by him would be rotten to the core. I should have felt the evil while she was still in my womb."

Kahlan was outraged by the betrayal that had been perpetrated against her. "All those years that little liar pretended to love me, to want what I wanted. But all that time she couldn't wait to destroy me, to destroy Richard. Why couldn't I have seen what was in front of me? She belonged to that monster from the very first."

During these manic recitations, Alice would do her best to calm the queen. At first she tried to defend Rachel, reminding her mistress of what a loving child she had always been. But those efforts were met with such anger that she soon realized it was pointless to argue.

Then, as suddenly as it came, the rage vanished, replaced by hours of hopeless tears interspersed with pleas to Richard for forgiveness.

Eventually, Kahlan stopped saying anything.

That had been weeks ago.

So when Alice first heard the laughter, the hairs on the back of her neck stood up.

The laughter terrified her more than the wrath, or even the apathy. Those emotions had been understandable.

There could be no possible reason for laughter in this place.

Rushing into the bedchamber, Alice found Kahlan gazing out of the window, staring at something, or someone, with great intensity. But there was nothing to see but the solid dark stone of their prison.

The queen's body was held rigid, rapt with anticipation.

Then, as though released from a binding spell, she whirled into motion, striding up to Alice so quickly that the other woman stepped back, fearful that her mistress was once again spiraling into violence.

Instead, the queen's face was lit from within by absolute wonder as she grabbed Alice by the hand. "I can't believe it! Richard's coming! He's almost here. Can't you see him? He's right outside. Oh, how could I ever have doubted he would find a way to come back to me? He didn't need magic – only our love." Kahlan was happier than Alice had ever seen.

Just as abruptly, the queen ran back to the window, once again intently focused on something Alice couldn't see. "He's coming in now! He's coming for me at last!"

Turning back to survey the dismal, dark cluttered room, Kahlan's mood switched again. She paused, brow furrowed in bewilderment. "What is this place? I don't remember coming here," she looked around, whispering to herself. "I am the Mother Confessor, so I must be in Aydinril. But the Confessor's Palace is so much darker than I remember. It was always so beautiful and light."

Kahlan swiftly rounded on Alice, suspicion darkening her eyes. Glaring at her companion, the queen snapped bitterly, all trace of her former happiness erased, "Who are you? I've seen you around here, spying on me! I don't know what you are trying to do, but Richard is here now and he is going to take care of everything. There's nothing you can do to keep him away from me, so don't even try."

Alice stood rooted to the spot, fighting back tears.

How could her beloved mistress not recognize her?

She had been the queen's constant companion, her only friend, for almost eighteen years.

"My Lady," she stammered, "Don't you know me? My name is Alice. I've served you since your marr - for many years. You once told me that you could see into my heart. You've been very ill. I've been caring for you for a long time."

"Please try to remember! I would never do anything to stand in the way of your happiness."

As Alice struggled to explain, Kahlan's expression once again relaxed, although still showing no sign of recognition. "So you are a friend then? I can trust you?" she ventured. Approaching Alice, this time slowly, thoughtfully, the queen looked deeply into the other woman's eyes. She nodded, smiling once more, "Yes, I can see your goodness. Your eyes tell me everything I need to know."

Satisfied that Alice was now her ally, Kahlan's demeanor changed to one of brisk decisiveness. "I've fulfilled my duties as Mother Confessor here at Aydindril. My sister Dennee can assume my responsibilities. Richard has come for me and I can be free."

Scrambling over to her closet, Kahlan began grabbing dresses, pulling them off their hangers and throwing them on the floor and onto the bed.

"Alice. Isn't that what you said your name was? Alice – don't just stand there gaping at me? Quick! I have to get ready, "she began issuing directions, the queen once more, "Comb my hair. Help me into my white dress. I have to have one here somewhere. I'm the Mother Confessor after all. Richard loves me in that dress. I have to look my best when he comes in."

As Alice fumbled with trying to pick out a white dress among the sea of red material, Kahlan started laughing again, giddy with joy.

"I'm in here, Richard! You really shouldn't have come up here until I was dressed," Lowering her voice to a murmur, she walked back over to the wall and leaned her cheek against it, brushing her lips and running her hands over the rough damp surface . But Kahlan did not see cold stone, brick and mortar. She looked upon and embraced a living, breathing man.

"My darling, I've waited so long for you. I don't know how I've been able to bear it. But everything's all right now. You're finally here."

Gesturing to Alice, the queen motioned her over to where Richard seemed to be standing. "Richard, I almost forgot to introduce you to Alice. She tells me that she has been my good friend for a long time. I was very sick, and that must be why I can't remember things. But she took care of me and now I'm completely recovered."

Looking at Alice, Kahlan continued softly," Alice, this is Richard. I can't believe I've never mentioned him to you before today. He's the only man I have ever loved, and now he's come home to me."

Gazing upon her mistress at that moment, Alice caught a glimpse of the young, breathtakingly beautiful woman Kahlan must have been before her marriage, before the light had gone out of her eyes.

But, by some strange sad miracle, the light, the vibrancy and the beauty had returned – along with Richard.

Kahlan turned back toward the wall, stretching out a hand as if beckoning to a lover.

"Come to me, dearest. It's been so long and we have so much to tell each other. Is Zedd going to be coming later? I can't wait to see him again. But first we need some time alone."

Reaching up dreamily to stroke her neck, Kahlan's fingers touched the circlet that bound her magic. At first she appeared confused, but she didn't yank at it in frustration and anger as she had for eighteen years. Now she ran her fingers over the rada'han gently, reverently.

"Oh,Richard. Look what I'm wearing. Isn't it wonderful? Now, we can finally be together."

As Alice watched the queen's reunion with her unseen lover, she vowed that she would do everything in her power to make sure that, at least in Kahlan's mind, Richard would stay forever.

Even if that meant ensuring that she was never reminded of her husband or child again.


	18. Lessons

** Lessons**

Why did her father have to keep his study so unbearably hot?

The fire blazing in the hearth would have felt wonderful a few months ago, before the short frigid days had finally given way to the warmth of spring. Even though she had managed to pull her chair as far away from the flames as possible, Rachel was still sweltering. Pushing sweat-damp hair back from her forehead, she wondered at her father's imperviousness to the heat.

This day had been spent, just as all the others during the past weeks, with father and daughter closeted in this room discussing history and strategy. Darken had very specific plans concerning Rachel's future, particularly her role in preparing for Richard's arrival and in obtaining the Boxes of Orden.

He had repeated himself so frequently on these subjects that Rachel was beginning to feel insulted. She might have some deficiencies when it came to physical strength, but she had a sharp intelligence and, like her father, an excellent memory.

There were some secrets about Orden that her father declined to explain.

At one time Darken had possessed two of the precious Boxes, and had come very close to gaining the third from Queen Milena. Rachel was never able to learn how her father lost all three Boxes of Orden to Richard. It was clearly a matter of injured pride for him, and she had learned to let it rest.

It was strange that her mother had never discussed it though.

Darken was bent over an ancient parchment spread over the smooth wood of his desk. His gaze fixed on the arcane symbols as he explained their meaning to her once again. Totally engrossed in the task at hand, he seemed unaware of her increasing discomfort.

Rachel tried to keep her mind on her father's words, but she was starting to get a little dizzy from the heat. His voice had faded to a soft drone in her head. A dull pain was starting to pound behind her eyes, and the muscles in the back of her neck were tight with tension and fatigue.

Rachel yearned to be outside. There was only one window in the study, but it had a delightful view over the gardens. She envied the servants busy with the trimming and weeding. She could almost smell the fresh grass. It was such a lovely day, and all she could do was watch it go by from within these stifling walls .

This prison.

That wasn't fair. She needed to stop feeling sorry for herself.

Her mother didn't even have a window.

No. She wouldn't think about that.

It was almost Mid-Summer's Eve, yet Rachel had only had been permitted freedom from her studies for one afternoon since the days had begun to lengthen. She had reveled in the freedom of being on her horse and away from the confines of the palace for a few hours.

But it had only been for one afternoon. Her father didn't approve of her wasting her time. There were too many things she had to prepare for.

Her father no longer requested his daughter's company when he rode his stallion out in the countryside for daily exercise.

Mistress Theta was always attended him on these excursions.

His bodyguard.

Rachel wouldn't think of that, either.

She refused to let the day be completely spoiled.

Attempting to push aside her worries, Rachel became absorbed in watching two swallows building a nest under the eaves. She smiled, imagining herself on the other side of the glass, feeling the soft breeze and the warmth of the sun on her face.

If she could just take one breath of cool fresh air, or catch the scent of new growth, then maybe the cold dark horror of the past winter would start to fade.

She was almost there. It was coming to her – the fragrance of spring.

The hope of rebirth.

Then it was shattered.

"Since you seem to find your own thoughts more interesting than anything I could possibly say, maybe you could share them with me," her father drawled, "I am sure that I would find them as enticing as you do."

Flushing from the heat – and shame - Rachel apologized, "I'm sorry, father, it's just that we have gone over this so many times. Couldn't we stop for today? Maybe we could take the horses out like we used to do."

Once he would have smiled in agreement.

But that was before.

The world was a different place now.

Changed forever by her own words.

Maybe she didn't deserve to be happy.

"Rachel, I don't think you appreciate how much responsibility is resting on your shoulders. I am not going to be around to help you forever," her father was still talking.

She really had to start paying attention.

But it had all been recited so often.

She couldn't understand why he was so worried. Once Richard was confessed, he would be glad to tell her children where to find the Boxes, and would lead them to the artifacts himself.

**Richard.**

The bane of her existence.

The only reason for her existence.

No.

She wouldn't think about that today either.

What joyous occasion could she find to look forward to?

Oh, yes.

Taking a mate.

How could she have forgotten?

Ever since her seventeenth birthday the previous month, Darken had grown increasingly insistent about Rachel's marriage. He talked about it almost as much as Richard and the infernal Boxes.

She accepted the fact that childhood was over. It was much harder to acknowledge her father's growing impatience with her.

It hurt that every minute he spent with her was consumed with talk of duty and responsibility.

It stung that he no longer smiled at her in welcome.

That he never seemed happy with her.

Or proud of her.

In the immediate aftermath of her mother's betrayal and punishment, Darken had been almost as loving and attentive to Rachel as he had been when she was a child. As the weeks passed, both father and daughter had tried to resume some semblance of their former routine.

The task seemed to present very little difficulty for him.

Still haunted by guilt, Rachel found it impossible to go on as if nothing had happened.

On her seventeenth birthday she made the mistake of trying to confide in her father.

The response had been a sharp rebuke.

Compassion for an enemy was weakness .

His cold words still lodged in her mind.

"I killed my father when he betrayed me, and have never regretted it. I suggest, Rachel, that you develop a keener sense of self-preservation."

**oOo**

Darken regarded his daughter with exasperation. He was growing impatient with her refusal to face the hard facts of the world in which she lived. Although it hadn't been mentioned recently, he knew that she continued to mourn the loss of her mother.

It galled him.

How could Rachel forgive Kahlan for what she had done – what she had planned to do?

How could anyone so easily swayed by pity successfully rule an empire?

Kahlan had betrayed both her husband and child and was fortunate to still be alive.

Darken had been more than merciful.

His wife was dead to him. The fact that Kahlan still lived and breathed was almost irrelevant. She had not fulfilled many of her public duties in years, and much of the adulation that she had once received from the populace was now showered on her daughter. Many no longer remembered what Kahlan Amnell even looked like.

Rachel had been her mother's victim, as had he. Why couldn't he girl forget the woman who had been so eager to forget her?

He loved his daughter, and her mother didn't.

But his love, apparently, held little value for her.

By the standards of his own upbringing Darken had been a good father. It hadn't been easy, but he had tried.

His daughter's grief over her mother made no sense, and it was beginning to make him extremely angry.

What he hated to admit was that Rachel's sorrow and longing for her mother caused him pain.

Why was **he** not good enough?

Why was he not the most loved even now, after everything that had occurred?

Darken had done everything possible for his daughter, was still doing everything on her behalf, while his wife had only plotted her destruction.

Nobody loved Rachel more than her father, and there should be room in her heart for only him. Of course, she would marry and have children, but he didn't expect her to love her husband.

He wasn't sure that he wanted her to.

Darken had never liked to share.

**oOo**

Watching her father closely, Rachel pondered over asking him the question that had been nagging at her for weeks. Afraid of the answer, she had kept putting it off.

Someday she would have to stop being afraid.

She braced herself.

"Father," she began hesitantly, "I know I haven't been as attentive as I should have been recently, but if you would just let me see mother for a few minutes, I promise that -"

Darken didn't allow her to finish.

"Rachel, I've told you from the beginning that no one will ever be permitted to see her. If you love me, you won't question my decisions."

She couldn't give up yet. "It would only be one visit, and I will never ask again. Your guards will be there the whole time. How can it do any harm?"

"It does harm," he snapped, "because it makes my sentence for her crime meaningless"

"Surely an exception can be made one time for her own daughter."

Rachel flinched as her father slammed his hand down on the desk, tearing the parchment he had handled so reverently just a few minutes before.

"**Enough!"**

"You are not to bring this matter up with me again," he forced himself to take a deep breath, reining in his temper. Turning his back on her, Darken carefully rolled the damaged parchment up in his hands. "It's clear that we are wasting our time here today. Leave me now. I will meet you later at dinner."

Darken realized that if Rachel was determined to visit Kahlan, she could confess one, or maybe even two, of the guards to gain entry to her mother's quarters.

He doubted she would ever try.

His daughter hated her power. An attitude Darken found as incomprehensible as it was infuriating.

Why should someone who didn't even want it be able to have the ability to control another person's mind literally at their fingertips?

There was no justice in the world.

As Rachel turned to leave, he called after her.

"By the way, I intend to announce your engagement at the reception next week." Darken had dreaded telling her, but Rachel had been very provoking recently. He had already delayed too long.

He wasn't enthusiastic about this match. But Rachel's marriage was a necessity. She had to give him with grandchildren while he was still young enough to participate in their training and upbringing.

Stunned by her father's words, Rachel came back into the room.

"When were you going to tell me about this, father?" Unable to keep the bitterness out of her voice, "Who am I being thrown to?"

**Thrown to!**

Angered by her response, Darken's earlier hesitation at delivering the news was replaced by malicious pleasure. "Captain Brandon is the fortunate groom. I believe that even your dear mother approved of him. Since her opinion is so important to you, I thought that you would be quite pleased."

"Why does everything have to happen so fast?" she asked, torn between anguish and frustration. " I've just turned seventeen."

"How can you be so cruel to me?"

Darken stared at her in disbelief.

**Cruel!**

Had the ungrateful girl ever called Kahlan cruel?

The mother who had plotted her death.

Rachel backed away, shaking her head, "No, I can't stand him. I won't go through with it. How can you do this to me? I thought that Confessors were allowed to choose their own mates."

The room fell quiet while father and daughter glared at each other. She had seen that expression in his eyes before, but for once did not concede.

He finally broke the silence, carefully enunciating each syllable, his voice shaking with fury, "You will do this because I am your father, and because it is what I think is best for you and for the benefit of my family. My daughter, whether or not she is a Confessor, will accept the man I choose for her."

"Anyway, "Darken added spitefully, "what difference will any of it make once the man is confessed?"

Rachel stood her ground, "I won't let that man touch me. He is disgusting."

**I will always despise you.**

Through a red mist, Darken witnessed Rachel's features transform into those of another woman.

Standing before him this night, just as she had stood before him on that night eighteen years before.

Full of pride.

Defiance.

Hate.

Now, through her daughter, humiliating him once again.

"**Get out!" **he spat. His vision was beginning to blur. "Leave now - before I do something we will both regret. You are not to leave your apartments until the evening of the reception. A guard will be posted at your door. I don't want to look at your face."

His derisive words pursued her as she ran out of the room.

"You really are your mother's daughter aren't you?"

He could return pain for pain.


	19. Confessor

**Confessor**

"Then I took on all four beauties, Jonathon. My friend, I tell you it was a night to remember!"

Bleary eyed from too much D'Haran ale, Christopher Brandon, reigning bully, braggart and golden- haired lothario of Darken Rahl's Third Battalion, lurched into Captain Egremont's quarters without invitation.

Throwing himself down into the only comfortable chair in the room, he stretched like a languid cat at the memory of the previous night's conquests.

"I left them begging for more. You should have been there. But, of course, you would have been much too gallant to take advantage of the opportunity," he mocked.

"Besides," he muttered under his breath, "I have the right to enjoy my last few hours."

The oldest son of an ancient but land-poor family, Brandon was a cunning and skilled warrior, with an uncanny ability to anticipate his opponent's moves, both strategically and in close combat. It was an instinct no amount of training could instill. But he was lazy, indulging himself with women and drink at the expense of honing his considerable abilities.

Jonathon Egremont, nervously straightening the jacket of his uniform, grimaced in disgust. He didn't have time to deal with Christopher's inebriated ramblings tonight. Having just returned to the Palace from a visit to his family, Jonathon had requested, and been granted, an audience with Lord Rahl to be held within the hour.

Captain Egremont, like his father before him, was an officer in the Dragon Corp, the elite company responsible, along with the Mord'Sith, for protecting the king's person and his immediate family. Jonathon held the same rank as Brandon, but far surpassed him in intellect and integrity, carrying greater influence, not only with Lord Rahl, but also the entire Court.

One day he wanted to attain the position that his father had once held.

Given a title and lands upon his reluctant retirement from Lord Rahl's service, General Egremont had grumbled about his enforced idleness up until the day he died. He had never wanted to be a lord, only a soldier.

Jonathon hoped that his father would have been proud of him.

It was time to go.

Taking a deep breath, he turned to leave.

"Don't you want to congratulate me before you leave, old friend? " There was an odd quaver underlying Brandon's drawl. "You probably haven't heard the news yet, but I'm going to marry a princess. My family is coming up in the world."

"What are you talking about?" Jonathon asked warily.

This man was not his friend.

"Lord Rahl – and my father, we can't forget my father – gave me the happy news three days ago, and I've been celebrating ever since," Captain Brandon laughed harshly. "My father's quite happy about the arrangement, of course, and I'm sure that once I've been confessed, I'll be overjoyed about it, too. I'm sure that you can understand that right now I don't share my father's enthusiasm. "

Stunned by the words, Jonathon tried to gather his wits. He had only been gone a month. How could all of this have happened so fast?

"I don't believe it," he declared. "Why would Lord Rahl choose you?"

It was impossible!

He couldn't imagine Rachel married to this sorry creature.

She deserved so much more.

He owed his life to Rachel. When Jonathan was nineteen the queen had caught him in her apartments. Angered at his presumption, she had ordered her daughter to confess him. The princess, only nine years old at the time, had not only refused, but had convinced her father to be lenient.

From that day forward, Jonathon looked upon Rachel like a younger sister.

Someone to protect and care for.

A friend.

Sometimes he thought he was her only friend.

Jonathon had always known that his place, like his father's, was at Lord Rahl's side . He was honest enough to acknowledge his hopes of advancement, and his desire for a wife and children.

As much as he cared for her, he had never even considered the possibility of marrying Rachel.

Lost in his thoughts, Jonathon hadn't noticed Brandon staggering across the room until he felt the man's hot stinking breath in his face.

"Please, Jon, you have to help me." Egremont despised the desperation in Brandon's voice.

The utter terror.

"Lord Rahl might listen to you. Don't let them do this to me. I know my faults. I'm selfish, greedy, a bully and a lecher. But does that mean I don't have a right to my own life? If I have to go through with this I will lose everything. My body will be alive, but I won't be in it. I won't even remember the person I used to be. Do you have any idea what that's like? To know that you are going to disappear, even if your heart keeps beating? To know that there's nothing you can do to stop it?"

Yanking his arm out of the other man's frantic grip, Jonathan hissed, "You're a coward. You disgrace yourself and the house that you've sworn to serve. You have been given a great honor and you spit on it."

"Honor! Brandon rasped hoarsely, "What honor is there in being a slave? I've been bought and paid for. My father gets his title and manor in exchange for my life. I'm being put out to stud so that Lord Rahl can breed more freaks. "

Jonathan grabbed Brandon by the throat, the blood roaring in his ears, "Don't you **ever **call her that. You don't know anything about her. If you ever do anything to hurt her, I swear that I -"

"Hurt her!" Brandon shouted, "After she gets done with me, I'll kill **you** if she ever asks me to. I'll do anything she wants – like a good little puppet. So, go ahead, do your worst now. But first, tell me, Jon, if I were dead, would you step forward to take my place? Would you bare your neck to the mercy of those tender white hands of hers?"

For a moment the two men glared at each other, until Jonathon was forced to look away. Releasing his hold, he stepped back as Brandon crumpled to the floor.

A pathetic quivering heap.

"No," Jonathon whispered. "No, I wouldn't."

Turning on his heel, he strode into the hallway.

He was already late, and Lord Rahl was not a patient man.

**oOo**

A few minutes later, flushed and out of breath from running through the labyrinthine passages, Jonathon approached the entrance to Lord Rahl's throne room.

He was dismayed to find Mistress Theta standing watch at the door. The relationship between the Mord'Sith and the men of the Dragon Corp was a complicated one.

An uneasy mixture of resentment and respect.

Ruthless and fearless warriors, the Sisters of the Agiel were, if anything, more disciplined and loyal to their Lord Rahl than were his soldiers. While an officer might occasionally turn traitor or coward, Jonathon had never heard the same of a Mord'Sith, (although there were rumors that one of Lord Rahl's favorites had gone rogue many years ago). For this very reason, the women regarded his men with a contain contempt, and often made little effort to hide that disdain.

Bound by magic to the House of Rahl, the Mord'Sith's devotion to their master was absolute. That dedication also extended to providing pleasure to the man they served, giving them access to Lord Rahl which no man shared.

Mistress Theta was the king's current favorite, a position she could not have held onto without having proven herself in every way.

She greeted Captain Egremont with a smirk that managed to be seductive, predatory and dismissive, all at the same time. "Lord Rahl has been waiting for you, Captain," she purred. "I hope you have a good explanation for your delay, although I can't imagine what could be more important than promptly attending to your master."

Jonathan bristled at her tone, but was careful to betray no emotion.

He was not accountable to this woman.

Seemingly undisturbed by his lack of response, the woman turned and swept into the throne room without bothering to knock, or asking permission to enter.

"My Lord, "she announced, "Captain Egremont is – finally – here." The reply was inaudible, but she turned and waved Jonathon into the room, closing the door behind him while she remained inside.

Despite his anxiety about the impending encounter, Jonathon couldn't help being impressed by Mistress Theta's easy assumption of authority.

She must be very sure of herself to disregard all protocol.

Jonathon took only a few steps before dropping on his knee, fist over his heart.

"My Lord," he began, "I apologize for making you wait. My Lord was so generous in granting me this meeting. Certain - unexpected matters - arose. I came as soon as I was free. But I know there is no excuse…," his voice trailed off.

What was he doing?

One never spoke to Lord Rahl until given permission. Things were going from bad to worse. Bowing his head further, Jonathon waited for the reprimand he deserved.

"Yes, Captain, I **was **growing a little annoyed. You did request this audience after all," Lord Rahl spoke quietly. That was no reason for encouragement. The king was often most dangerous when speaking softly.

Still – the ties between Jonathon's family and Darken Rahl's went deep. Years of loyal service must count for something.

Jonathon raised his head slightly to gage the king's mood. Lord Rahl was standing several feet away, gazing into the fireplace. The flames cast a dancing glow over the room. The captain could sense Mistress Theta's presence behind him.

Somehow he knew that she was enjoying his discomfort.

The silence stretched out so long that Jonathon's leg started tingling. He heard the rustle of fabric and footsteps as Lord Rahl approached. Gritting his teeth with the effort of maintaining his posture, Jonathon found himself staring at the king's boots and the hem of his robes.

Finally Lord Rahl broke the tension.

"Get up, Captain. You're about to topple over."

Closing his eyes in relief, Jonathon rose unsteadily. "Thank you, my Lord. I'm so very sorry – "

"Yes, yes, I know you're sorry", the king interrupted brusquely, "but please tell me why we're here. It's late and I have to be up before dawn. Captain Brandon is escorting a hunt tomorrow and I would like to get some rest before we set out."

While not angry, Lord Rahl seemed distracted. Studying the king closely for the first time in weeks, Jonathon was shocked at how tired he looked. The king's face was drawn and his eyes weary. A vigorous day in the sun would probably do him a world of good.

But not with Captain Brandon as a bodyguard.

Jonathon thought of the man he had left only a few minutes before. Brandon was in no shape to mount a horse, much less protect anyone. He was probably passed out on the floor by now.

Egremont was vaguely surprised by the pity that swept over him at the image.

"My Lord, Captain Brandon is the reason I was late tonight," Jonathan explained. "He came to my quarters as I was preparing to attend you. I'm afraid he is coming down with a severe - cold. With all due respect to your wishes, I would advise that he not accompany you tomorrow. If any trouble or accident should occur - "

Lord Rahl waved him off. "Mistresses Theta and Alix will prove more than sufficient protection. There are matters that I must discuss with the good captain, and I expect him to be ready to leave with us."

The king looked at Egremont sharply. "Have you quarreled with Brandon?" he asked. "Captain, you have always impressed me not only with your talents, but with your ability to avoid the petty jealousies and scrambling for position that infects too many men in my service. Individual ambition is admirable, but I will not tolerate one branch of my army to undermine the other."

Lord Rahl's face darkened with suspicion. "Or, is it possible that this is about something else entirely? What happened between you and Captain Brandon this evening?"

Jonathon hesitated, torn between loyalties. He didn't want to betray a confidence, even of a man he disliked, yet Brandon should not, could not, be trusted to escort the king. Considering the other man's state of mind, Jonathon feared that, even if Christopher were able to ride on the morrow, his fellow officer might attempt something reckless.

Jonathon could not permit that to happen.

"Lord Rahl, may I speak frankly?"

"I expect nothing less, Captain."

Jonathon noticed Mistress Theta standing at attention by the door, her lips curved in an enigmatic smile.

He had to be careful.

Diplomatic.

"Please, my Lord. I would prefer to speak to you in private."

Lord Rahl's brow furrowed in puzzlement. "We **are** alone, Captain." Then, following Egremont's furtive gaze, the king shrugged.

"My Mord'Sith always attend me. Mistress Theta is well aware of the need for discretion. If what you say is correct, and there is a good reason that Brandon should not be with us tomorrow, she needs to know, wouldn't you agree?"

Jonathon didn't, but had no choice but to proceed. "My Lord, Brandon came to my quarters tonight very intoxicated. I tried to calm him, but he's too incapacitated to ride with you tomorrow. It would be dangerous."

Lord Rahl was expressionless, his eyes narrowed to slits. "You don't need to use my title every time you address me in private, Captain. Why did you have to calm Brandon down, and why do you believe him to be dangerous?"

Jonathon's shoulders slumped. He couldn't endanger his king. "Captain Brandon is upset about the marriage. He was very distraught, and asked me if I could try to convince you to reconsider."

Despite the king's skill in concealing his emotions, Egremont knew him well enough to discern his surprise.

"Captain Brandon has been offered marriage to my daughter and he wishes to reject her. Is that what you are telling me? His family is benefiting greatly from this alliance, as is he. Rachel is precious to me. I don't hand her over to anyone lightly."

_Then why would you even consider handing her over to anyone like Brandon?_

Jonathon struggled to quell his feelings.

"Brandon has not been around the princess very often, my Lord." Try as he might, Egremont could not break the habit of years. "He doesn't know her as I do, and he fears…he fears being confessed. He seems quite desperate."

_As would I_, Jonathon reflected.

"I believe that confession is quite painless from everything I've been told," Lord Rahl said smoothly. "Brandon's reputation as a brave and clever warrior is well-deserved. **Those **are the qualities I wish passed on to my grandchildren. As for the captain's other attributes – let's just say that a confessed Brandon can only be an improvement on the original."

Jonathon face flushed with ire. The king was talking about his own daughter and the Captain's fellow officer, as despised as he might be, as if they were livestock.

"He not worthy of her!" Jonathon blurted out. "Rachel deserves to be happy, and Brandon will only make her wretched. It won't matter if he's confessed or not. She's smart and kind and gentle, and she should be able to be with someone who can make her happy. Someone who loves her."

Aghast as he was at his own recklessness, he couldn't stop himself, "And as despicable as Brandon might be, he doesn't deserve to be confessed. He's never betrayed you or been disloyal. How can you talk about them – about your own daughter – as if their feelings just don't matter?"

His tirade finished, Jonathan glared at his Lord, who returned it in kind, his face twisted with anger, eyes glttering. The young man was terrified of what he had done, but knew he would say it again in a heartbeat.

He waited for Mistress Theta to drag him out of the room.

For endless seconds neither man stirred. Then, Lord Rahl's features relaxed, a change so subtle Jonathon barely registered it, but he felt the menace recede, the invisible axe lifted from the back of his neck.

Mistress Theta must have sensed it, too.

She looked slightly disappointed.

The king averted his eyes and moved back to the hearth. He was breathing hard, but had managed to bring his passions under control.

"Do you really believe I don't care about my daughter's welfare?" he asked harshly. "Can't you understand that I worry about what will happen to her when I'm gone?"

Jonathon held firm. "I've spent the last eight years in your Court, Lord Rahl. I know you love her. Bu you asked me to speak frankly about Captain Brandon, and I have. Her life with him will be a misery. His life with her will be no life at all."

"So, Jonathon, what do you suggest I do?" Rahl continued to look into the fire. "The betrothal has not been announced. No papers have been signed. But promises have been made. Brandon's father will be rather distressed if he does not get that title he coveted."

Egremont started at the king's use of his first name. "I don't know, my Lord," he answered tiredly. "Perhaps a slightly more modest gift might ease the pain."

He wondered if he would ever have a change to broach the subject that had brought him here this evening.

"Tell me, Jonathon," Lord Rahl strode up to him, hands clasped behind his back, "if I send Brandon's father packing, and allow the miserable captain to keep that free will he claims to value so highly, who, in your opinion, would be the worthiest candidate for Rachel's hand? It can only be put off so long, you know."

Jonathon found it hard to meet the king's eyes. He had an ominous premonition.

Lord Rahl began pacing the length of the room. "What about you, Jonathon? Rachel cares very deeply for you. She even mentioned it when we were talking about her marital prospects a few weeks ago. I don't think she would be miserable with you."

The king's voice held the slightly mocking edge so often employed when he was interrogating one of his prisoners.

A cat toying with a mouse.

Jonathon's heart sank.

_Please. No._

Brandon's words of just an hour ago came back to haunt him.

_Would you step forward to take my place? Would you bare your neck to the mercy of those tender white hands of hers?_

He was walking a tightrope, but wanted to be as honest as possible.

"My Lord, I have served you and your daughter loyally for years, as did my father before me. I care for her as I would for my own sister, if I had one. I would die for her, and for you. But I don't believe that Rachel could ever be happy with a man who was confessed. I won't lie to you – I fear confession as much as any man."

As he struggled to express himself, Lord Rahl approached again, eyeing him keenly.

Clinging to his courage, leveling his own gaze with that of the king's, Jonathon continued, "My greatest desire has been to become a man my father would be proud of. My father's greatest wish was for me to serve you with as much dedication as he did. How can I do that, my Lord, if I am under confession, even to your own daughter?"

There was nothing more Jonathon could say. He waited on the king's decision.

Whatever happened, he would never beg as Brandon had.

"Jonathon," Lord Rahl asked thoughtfully, no longer mocking, but completely serious, "what if you could marry Rachel without being confessed? Would you do it?"

Jonathon was dumbstruck.

"My Lord, how is that possible?" he finally stammered. He knew that Queen Rahl had always worn a circlet of silver around her neck. His father had told him it was to prevent her from using her magic to confess those around the king. But the queen still lived, and as long as she survived, her magic had to be contained.

"It's called a rada'han. It prevents anyone who wears it from being able to use magic. My wife wears one for the protection of those around her. But, I have one other." Lord Rahl studied Jonathon carefully. "My wife cannot remove her rada'han. Even confined, she could be very dangerous. But you and Rachel would have a key. Both of you would always have the choice.

The captain was puzzled. "If that's the case, my Lord, why was Brandon so upset?

"Brandon never knew about it because he would never have been told," the king snapped. "Do you really think I would allow him or anyone like him that close to my throne without being confessed?"

Lord Rahl gentled his voice, "When Rachel mentioned your name, I was surprised. She had never revealed her feelings about you before. I knew that the two of you were fond of each other, but I never thought it was anything more serious than that. That night I told her it was impossible for the very reason you mentioned. You are my best officer, the one most likely to take your father's place by my side."

Jonathon, in spite of his inner turmoil, flushed with pride at these words. He had never heard the king talk like this before.

Lord Rahl continued earnestly, "You are indeed your father's son, and if I didn't believe you could be trusted I would never be telling you this. I am offering you the chance to marry my daughter and to remain in my service. You will never have the right of succession; that belongs only to my descendants, but you will have every other consideration that I can provide. And my daughter will have the happiness that she deserves."

The king, having made his offer, smiled at Jonathon so openly, so proudly, that the young man almost said yes. It was a magnanimous proposal, more than he could ever have dreamed of. Rachel was a lovely girl and would make a wonderful wife, and someday, perhaps, a gracious queen. He loved her dearly, and if circumstances had been different he would have gladly married her.

But the circumstances remained unchanged.

As much as he might care for her, even love her, Rachel was not the woman Jonathon wanted to share his life. That woman now waited anxiously at her father's estate for his message.

Waiting for word that Lord Rahl approved of a match already favored by her parents and his mother.

Jonathon's throat was so tight he couldn't speak. He was certain the king believed him overcome with emotion.

As he was.

"Well, Jonathon, what is your answer? I'm waiting." Although still smiling, Lord Rahl's eyes were narrowed slightly in concern.

"My Lord, I'm so sorry, but I, I - can't. "

"What do you mean? I have offered you everything in my power, including the happiness of my daughter, which you claim to prize so highly." Lord Rahl's smile had been wiped from his face, but he seemed unsure of how to react, as if Jonathon's answer was so incomprehensible that he couldn't bring himself to believe that the young man was telling the truth.

"My Lord, I requested this audience so that I could ask for your approval for my marriage," Jonathon forced the words out between his teeth, afraid of faltering in his resolve. "Her name is Miranda. She is Lord Hurst's daughter. We've known each other since we were children, but it's only been during the last year that we've talked about marriage. We have our parents' blessing, but because of my position and her family connections, neither of us can marry without your permission."

Jonathon braced himself for the deluge. He only prayed that Lord Rahl would not take revenge against his family or Miranda.

But there was no explosion of rage, no magical noose tightening around his throat. Mistress Theta was not summoned to drag him off to be tortured.

There was only his king – staring at him blankly.

"You know that I can force you to marry Rachel," the king declared flatly, his eyes dead and cold. "I can destroy your Miranda and her family. I can banish you in disgrace. I can ruin your family and everybody you care about in this world."

Jonathon answered quietly, pondering why he felt such compassion for this man who had just coolly recited all the ways he could obliterate everyone the captain held dear. "Yes, my Lord, I know all of these things. I have always, only, wanted to serve you and your family, and to bring honor to my own. I wanted to marry and raise my own family. It grieves me to disappoint you and to hurt your daughter. But would she want me if I were coerced to her side? She is a Confessor – she would always know that I was not with her by choice. And if I were confessed – she would not want me."

"My Lord, as you said, I am my father's son. Could you ever respect or trust me again if I broke a solemn promise to the woman I loved just to gain your favor?"

Jonathon couldn't have said more if he tried. Drained of words, the only thing he could do was drop to his knee again before the man he served.

"Get up, Captain," Lord Rahl sighed. "I only said that I could, not that I would. Even if I wanted to hurt you and yours, Rachel would always know, and it would serve no purpose anyway."

Jonathan stood, his legs shaking as badly as before. "My Lord –"

"Let me finish, Captain. You have my consent to marry your Miranda, and you will take up your duties as before. But you are never to bring her to the Court. I will not have my daughter forced to look at her. Also, you are never, under any circumstances, to reveal what was said in this room tonight. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, my Lord." Jonathon sank down on his knee for a third time. "I will not fail you."

"I know you won't, Captain. You truly are your father's son – in every way."

As he turned to leave, Jonathon was surprised to find himself crying. Whether from relief or sorrow he couldn't say.

He had been given the prize he sought, but someone else had paid dearly for it.

**oOo**

As the door closed behind Captain Egremont, Darken sank down on the throne. He didn't think his legs could hold him up any longer, and it was closer than the overstuffed chair by the hearth.

Rubbing his hands against his temples, he tried to banish the headache that was beginning to pound behind his eyes.

Since the ugly scene with Rachel the previous week, Darken had forced himself to ignore all of the plaintive message she had sent by her nurse begging to see him.

He had wanted her complete submission to his will, yet hated himself every time he sent Margaret back empty handed.

Until this night he had never tried to imagine what Rachel's life would be like married to a man she hated. While Darken still flinched when he compared her words about Brandon to Kahlan's words on the eve of their marriage, he didn't want his daughter to endure the same misery.

He had never been very pleased with Captain Brandon as a potential mate for his daughter. Kahlan had mentioned the man in one of their rare conversations one or two years before, and Brandon's family background was suitable. He seemed to have the attributes that most Confessors look for in a mate.

Darken had threatened his daughter with the engagement out of frustration and anger. He had not been prepared for the intensity of her reaction, or the accusations she had flung at him.

Once Captain Egremont revealed Brandon's cowardice, Darken had grabbed at the chance to eliminate the man from consideration, and to reconsider Jonathon. Tonight, he had been pleased at the thought of Rachel and Jonathon together. She would be happy, and he, in a way, would have the son he always wanted

When Rachel had mentioned Jonathan a few weeks ago, Darken had refused to consider the marriage. While it was true that he needed the captain as a free agent, his motives for not allowing the use of the rada'han were murkier. He had told Rachel that he would never be able to trust the loyalty of a son-in-law who was not confessed. While Darken had not been deliberately lying, he was not being completely honest with his daughter, or with himself.

Jonathon's father had remained loyal to the king through the most trying days of his reign, and he had never wavered in that faithfulness.

Egremont's son was made of the same metal. Even in his steadfast loyalty to his betrothed, when he could have had everything, Jonathon showed his true worth.

What Darken had really feared was a rival for his daughter's affections. If Rachel was bound to a man she despised, then her father would always come first, except perhaps for her children. Now he recognized the short-sighted folly of his selfishness. By trying to banish all other loves from his daughter's life, even her mother, he gained nothing, and risked losing her completely.

He wanted to talk to her again, to break through the coldness that had formed between them. He could at least relieve her mind about Brandon.

But he dreaded facing her.

Rachel loved Jonathon, and Darken couldn't bear to be the one to tell her that she could never have him. If he saw her tonight, even if he didn't inform her about Egremont, she would still know something was very wrong as soon as she looked at him. He was an accomplished liar, but he couldn't hope to hide the truth from a Confessor.

What if she blamed him?

Darken was too tired to think about it tonight. He needed rest and fresh air. Once he returned tomorrow evening, he would be better prepared to face his daughter.

In the meantime, he needed to arrange for another man to replace that dolt Brandon on tomorrow's expedition. He gestured to Mistress Theta. She had been standing behind him during his meditations - his silent companion of the evening.

"Yes, my Lord."

Darken turned his head sharply at the unfamiliar voice. A young woman he didn't recognize stood at attention by his side.

"Where is Mistress Theta?" he demanded. "I have need of her."

The young woman kneeled, her movements quick and decisive. "My Lord, she said to inform you that she was making arrangements for tomorrow's hunt, and that she would return as soon they were completed. Is there anything I can provide for you?" she smiled up at him invitingly.

Darken frowned in annoyance and motioned her away. He had not instructed Mistress Theta to make any further arrangements for tomorrow. She presumed too much. Theta was no Cara, and had little hold over his affections.

She was beautiful, lethal and skilled at giving both pain and pleasure, but after three years he was beginning to tire of the constant discord she stirred up between her Sisters.

The woman was beginning to be more trouble than she was worth. This new one might be an interesting prospect. He would have to find out more about her.

**oOo**

Mistress Theta slid through the back passageways like a water snake, sure and swift. She was taking a risk, but nothing precious was ever gained cheaply.

The Mord'Sith had quietly rejoiced in her rival's banishment over the past few days. The young Confessor languished in disgrace and it had been too long in coming. Her currency with her father had declined steadily over the past few months as he became increasingly irritated over her incessant whining about her mother.

The little scene played out in her presence tonight had shaken Theta's confidence somewhat. Lord Rahl still seemed to feel some lingering affection for his daughter, and had even been willing to give her the man she wanted.

A disappointing display of weakness on his part.

Theta had realized at that moment that she would have to take certain matters in hand.

The past hour had not been a complete loss. Captain Egremont's refusal had been music to her ears. United, he and the Confessor could have been a formidable threat to her plans.

But Lord Rahl's fondness for the younger man was disquieting. At least twice during the evening, she had been sure her skills would be called upon, only to be disappointed by her Lord's bewildering leniency.

It was almost as if he looked on the young officer as his own son.

Theta absently stroked her stomach. She wasn't showing yet, but it wouldn't be long.

Lord Rahl would have only **one** son, and nothing would be permitted to stand in that son's path to power, or her's.

After witnessing this evening's drama, Theta felt sure that Lord Rahl would be visiting the Confessor soon; if not tonight, then certainly on the morrow. Thankfully, she and her master were leaving in a few hours and would be gone until the next evening.

It was vital that Theta reach Rachel before her father.

The more time the Confessor had to deliberate on her situation, the better.

Finally finding the right doorway, the young Mord'Sith stepped out into the main corridor with the calm assurance of one whose right to walk these halls was absolute.

Protecting the Lord Rahl and his family was her sworn duty.

After curtly informing the guard outside Rachel's chambers that she carried a message from the king, Theta was allowed entrance to the Confessor's chambers.

She had expected to be accosted by Margaret, the old nurse who rarely left the Confessor's rooms, but was instead met by a sleepy middle-aged woman who blearily asked if there was something wrong.

Theta remembered then that Margaret had left the day before to attend her nephew's wedding. Lord Rahl had seemed rather irritated at the inconvenience of finding someone else to attend his daughter.

Shushing the woman, Theta ordered her outside, stating that she was here on Lord Rahl's orders. After one look into the Mord'Sith's eyes, the woman had obeyed without question.

Theta would deal with her and the guard later. An unfortunate accident perhaps. The back stairways were so steep and treacherous.

The Mord'Sith made a mental note to caution Lord Rahl about the negligence of palace security.

Upon gaining access to the Confessor's sitting room, she cautiously pushed open the door to the bedchamber.

Moonlight gleaming through the window revealed a pile of blankets lying atop the bedclothes.

The Confessor still slept.

Smiling to herself, Theta approached the slumbering girl, hand on her agiel, feeling its magic thrum through her body. She had only intended to talk to the girl, but the temptation to strike out was almost overpowering.

"What are you doing in here?" Rachel's voice cut through the darkness.

If she hadn't been Mord'Sith, Theta would have jumped. As it was, she cursed silently for losing the element of surprise.

The bed was empty.

She whirled around, only to see the Confessor standing in the doorway.

How had the witch gotten behind her?

Heart pounding, Theta realized that she might have underestimated her opponent.

As Rachel opened the door wider, the light from the hearth cast both women's faces in stark relief.

The Confessor looked terrible. Bedraggled and hollow-eyed, she was practically buried in the large robe she had wrapped around herself.

"I came to see if you were riding out with your father and Captain Brandon tomorrow morning," Theta answered coolly.

"That's a lie. You know I haven't seen my father in days," the Confessor said flatly. "Why are you really here?"

"To talk with you," the Mord'Sith replied soothingly. "After all, I'm going to give birth to your little brother in just a few months, and I think it's important that we understand each other. Lord Rahl is very pleased about the babe. It's all he's been talking about since I gave him the news yesterday."

"That doesn't sound like my father," Rachel scoffed. "I can't imagine him gushing about a baby. Anyway, how could he ever be sure that it's his? You've been with almost every man in the palace."

It was a wild swing, but it hit home.

The Mord'Sith had been very careful. Since making her decision, she had been with no other man but Lord Rahl. Whatever pleasure she shared with her Sisters was of no concern to him.

There was no doubt about this child's paternity.

"The child is his, Confessor. I'm not foolish enough to jeopardize my son's birthright."

"What birthright? Your son will be a bastard," Rachel parried quickly.

Theta bristled. The night wasn't going quite as she had planned, but she refused to let this creature wrest control from her.

"Lord Rahl is already making plans for his son. He can't wait to get you married so you can finally be of use to him. You are only good for producing more Confessors,"

"I think he regrets not locking you away with your traitor mother. He's still going to do it. He's told me that once you're married, he will order Captain Brandon to visit you until you conceive. Then he will take each child away from you as soon as she's born."

Theta paused, taking a deep breath. She was dangerously close to losing control with her verbal tirade. But it was becoming more difficult to think clearly.

Her hatred for the Confessor coursed through her blood like the magic of the agiel.

One and the same.

How she longed to hold the weapon against that feeble little body, which would also, of course, provide her foe with the perfect opportunity to get her hand around Theta's neck.

Her son mustn't be harmed.

She tried to calm herself, but it was so hard. Every word spewed out of her mouth brought her closer to the edge of some dark abyss.

The Mord'Sith was careful to keep distance between herself and her enemy as she continued to probe for Rachel's vulnerable underbelly.

The weakness that would destroy her.

Lowering her voice to a soft murmur, she resumed the attack. "Lord Rahl always hated your mother, especially after she only provided him with a puny girl child. She failed him, and so have you. You've been a disappointment since the day you were born, but until now you were all he had to work with. Soon all of that is going to change."

"You're raving," Rachel snapped, but for the first time during their encounter, her voice held a faint hint of uncertainty. "I can't believe that my father would ever talk to you about me, or about my mother."

"You couldn't be more wrong, little mouse. I share his bed every night. I am with him all the time, sharing all of his secrets."

The Confessor's voice grew stronger as she moved toward the Mord'Sith, arm outstretched, hand open, grasping, reaching. "I think you're still lying. Maybe you're worried that father's growing tired of you. There'll always be another one of your kind waiting to replace you, won't there?"

Theta, acutely aware of her danger, backed away, maneuvering around a table, inching for the access to the outer hallway.

She might have over-played her hand this night, but she had no choice. Time was against her.

And the Confessor's words struck at Theta's deepest fear.

Lord Rahl might indeed welcome her son, but that didn't ensure her own future. Once the boy was born, his father could still send Theta away with nothing.

A son who didn't know his own mother was no good to her at all.

But she was not finished with Rachel yet.

"Do you know why Lord Rahl chose Captain Brandon for you, Confessor?" she spat viciously. "He knew that Brandon disgusted you more than all of the others. It amused him. He wanted you to suffer like your mother suffered when he took her to his bed. He even laughed about it after his meeting with Captain Egremont this evening. I was in the same room. I heard it all."

Rachel faltered, visibly wounded, "He was laughing about this with Jonathon? That's not possible!"

Theta's eyes narrowed.

She smelled blood.

This could be the opening she had been looking for.

The Mord'Sith shrugged with exaggerated disinterest, "Oh, no. He was laughing about you and your mother with me. But Captain Egremont's meeting with Lord Rahl **was** interesting. The Captain asked for Lord Rahl's permission to marry Lord Hurst's daughter. He said that they have been in love for years. Lord Rahl granted his approval, of course. He seemed very happy for both of them, and even offered to give her a position at Court so that she can be with her husband."

Theta smirked at her enemy. "It would appear, Confessor, that nobody wants you. The only purpose you have in this world is to provide your father with more Confessors. It's the only reason you're still alive."

Rachel's white-faced anguish was everything Theta could have hoped for. Clearly stunned, the Confessor was shaking. She didn't even seem to notice when Theta slipped out of the room.

As the Mord'Sith strode purposefully toward the back passage she had used earlier, she planned her next moves. She trusted her ability to keep Lord Rahl occupied over the next five hours. And then they would be gone until the next evening.

Theta had thrown the dice.

She would wait to see how they landed.

* * *

A/N: I just want to say how much I appreciate all of you who are following this story and those of you who are kind enough to leave feedback. It's been quite a journey for me and having your support has been wonderful.


	20. Richard

**Richard**

Upon first waking to the cold threat in Theta's eyes, Bess had scrambled out of the princess's rooms without a backward glance.

After all, few Mord'Sith would think twice about killing an old servant, but none would be suicidal enough to injure Lord Rahl's daughter?

Concealing herself in a nearby closet, the woman had waited with baited breath for Theta to leave. After what seemed like an eternity, Bess had heard the door to Rachel's apartments click shut as Theta stepped back into the corridor, then a strangled groan followed by a muted thud. Endless moments passed until the Mord'Sith started her journey down the steep stairs of the back passageway. She seemed to be moving rather clumsily for one of her kind, her steps heavy and dragging, scraping against stone.

When Bess finally mustered the courage to re-enter Rachel's chambers she noted with vague surprise and some relief that no guard stood watch at the door. At least she would not have to come up with a reason for her flight.

But one look at Rachel was enough for Bess to realize that she had made a serious error in judgment. The implications of what she had done, and what she had just heard, began to filter through her fogged brain. She would be in dire straits if Lord Rahl's daughter had come to any harm through her cowardice.

When Rachel's nurse, Margaret, had left for a few days for a family celebration, Bess had been the first to offer to look after the princess's needs. The young mistress was undemanding and quiet, and Bess wanted a short respite from the endless bowing and scraping required by Lord Rahl's never-ending stream of noble guests as she laced up their corsets, fetched their meals and cleaned up after their selfish follies.

Attending to the girl had proved easy enough until this night. In disfavor with her father, the girl was withdrawn and uncommunicative during the two days Bess had spent in her company. Refusing to eat or sleep, she spent the time either moping about and staring out the window, or pacing distractedly to and fro between her two rooms. Bess, never one to let a good meal go to waste, ate enough for the both of them.

Bess knew that Margaret had taken messages from Rachel to Lord Rahl over the previous week, but she wasn't about to play that game, and was grateful she had not been asked. The princess seemed to have decided that it was a futile effort.

But now, coming upon Rachel standing pale and transfixed in front of the hearth, Bess knew that her faintness of heart in fleeing from the Mord'Sith might have cost her dear.

Something very bad had just happened, and Bess just knew that she would be blamed for it.

**oOo**

"Please don't be angry, my Lady. I was sure you would be fine. After all, I only stepped out for a few minutes. When the Mord'Sith told me that she carried a private message from your father, I couldn't very well argue with her when she ordered me to leave, could I?"

Rachel frowned impatiently at Bess's shrill grating voice, and pushed away her clutching hands. The woman's breath reeked of liquor. "Have you ever known my father to allow one of his Mord'Sith to enter my rooms without warning?" she demanded. "You are supposed to be acting as my attendant, not running away at the first opportunity."

"I told you, Mistress," Bess whined, "She said your father sent her. Who was I to doubt her? She is his personal bodyguard, after all. It could have been true. Who was I to question her? I know my place."

"Why didn't the guard question her then?" Rachel asked. Stepping over to the door, she pulled it open, peering up and down the corridor. Nobody was in sight.

That was strange.

At least one guard was always supposed to be at her door during the night.

She should report this carelessness.

She **should** report Mistress Theta's intrusion.

But to whom?

Her father had ignored her repeated appeals to see him.

Why would he listen now?

Mistress Theta would never have come here tonight if she hadn't felt very sure of herself.

If she hadn't felt safe from retribution.

_I share his bed every night. I am with him all the time, sharing all of his secrets._

Perhaps her father **had** given Theta permission to talk to Rachel.

Since her banishment from her father's presence, Rachel had ontinued to puzzle over the intensity of his wrath when she expressed her disgust for Captain Brandon. It wasn't the first time they had discussed the man, and she had never made a secret of her feelings. Yet something uttered that particular night had goaded her father into a rage.

Something that reminded him of her mother.

_You really are your mother's daughter aren't you?_

Rachel had been sure that his anger would fade after a day or two of reflection. She had hoped he could be persuaded to put off any decision about her marriage.

But his ire had only hardened as the days went by.

He refused to even see her, repeatedly repulsing poor Margaret's attempts to deliver her messages.

Cut off from her mother, cast adrift by her father, Rachel felt as if she were becoming invisible, her edges softening and blurring. She would catch herself gazing into the mirror to reassure herself that she still existed.

Theta's nocturnal visit had shaken what little confidence Rachel had left in her father's affections.

_I share his bed every night. I am with him all the time, sharing all of his secrets._

Theta had judged her adversary well, knowing just when and where to strike, then making her escape, leaving Rachel alone to dwell on every poisonous work, every vile image planted in her mind and heart.

Leaving her to agonize over where lies ended and the truth began.

Rachel started as Bess grasped her sleeve. Jerking away from the contact, she turned on the servant, ready to let fly with her frustration. The woman was weeping, her bloodshot eyes wide with terror. "Mistress, please, **please** don't tell your father that I left you alone tonight. It wasn't as if you were actually hurt now, is it? No harm was done, so why can't we just keep this a secret between us? I know you have a good heart. Mags is always telling me what a kind-hearted girl you are."

The woman had dropped to her knees, blubbering so hard she couldn't speak any more. Her face was streaked with dirt where she'd wiped her hands across her wet cheeks.

Swept by reluctant pity, Rachel tried to calm her companion. "All right. I promise. Just…stop crying. If you want to please me, lie down and try to sleep. The sun will be up soon. At least one of us should get some rest."

Within minutes, after offering her sniveling gratitude, Bess lay snoring on the sofa, oblivious to all around her.

Reclining on her own bed, Rachel willed herself to relax. She had been sleepless for days, so exhausted that her body felt like lead. Yet her mind would give her no rest.

Every time her eyes closed, Theta leered at her, mouthing words that echoed mockingly in her head.

_He can't wait to get you married so you can finally be of use to him._

_You've been a disappointment since the day you were born._

Rachel buried her face into the pillows, but the voice wouldn't stop.

_He knew that Brandon disgusted you more than all of the others. It amused him._

How could her father have enjoyed the thought of her misery?

She didn't believe it.

Couldn't believe it.

That was a lie.

_Lord Rahl always hated your mother._

_He wanted you to suffer like your mother suffered when he took her to his bed._

_He regrets not locking you away with your traitor mother._

More lies!

Her father had loved her mother once. Even as a very young child, Rachel had noticed the small things – the secret glance when her mother's head was turned, the tentative touch that withdrew at her mother's shiver of revulsion, the beginning of a smile that would freeze into a sneer when repulsed. She had sensed his yearning for something more which was always denied.

He had loved Kahlan until the night Rachel had let slip those fatal words about Richard, creating the first kernel of suspicion in her father's mind.

A suspicion that had blossomed into hatred only when Rachel revealed her mother's secret.

Yet beneath many of Theta's words there had been a ring of truth, however faint.

_You're only good for producing more Confessors._

For months Rachel had felt the growing chill of her father's impatience.

The shadow of his disappointment.

_Until now you were all he had to work with. Soon all of that is going to change._

_Lord Rahl is already making plans for his son._

Mord'Sith might be unreadable to Confessors, but Rachel did not doubt Theta's pregnancy. It was an instinct that had nothing to do with magic. The fierce pride in the woman's eyes, the way she carried herself, the protective manner in which her hand hovered over her belly, all conveyed a truth that couldn't be denied.

Once Lord Rahl had his son, what value would Rachel hold for him other than as a Confessor? Her mother had tried to warn her.

_Your father cares about one thing and one thing only. He wants power, and will use you in any way possible to maintain that power. You are a fool if you can't understand that._

Theta had sworn that he already knew about the babe.

Perhaps that was why father had forgotten about her.

He had never gone so long without speaking to her before. Even when he and her mother had gone on progress during her childhood, leaving Rachel behind in the care of her nurse, her father had always kept in touch with her by journey book, sending her messages every day without fail.

The clatter of iron-shod hooves against cobblestones interrupted her brooding. Propping herself up on the bed, Rachel scooted over to the window. From there she could look out over the vast courtyard below. Through the pre-dawn mist, she could make out forms of men and horses. Somebody was talking, but she couldn't make out the words.

The hunting party.

Theta had asked if she was going, knowing all the while that her company had not been requested.

Rachel wondered if her father and Captain Brandon would talk about the upcoming betrothal while they killed helpless animals. For the first time she considered the possibility that Brandon might be as reluctant as she about this arrangement.

Would Jonathon be among them? Would he laugh and talk with the others about his upcoming marriage to the woman he loved?

A woman who couldn't enslave him with a touch.

Who could blame him?

Rachel was a freak of nature.

The last of her kind.

What man would want to be used to inflict more Confessors on the world.

Lying back against the pillows, Rachel closed her eyes in defeat. The fatigue of the past six months sank into her bones.

_It would appear, Confessor, that nobody wants you. The only purpose you have in this world is to provide your father with more Confessors. It the only reason you're still alive._

So be it, then. Maybe it was best not to fight.

Theta's parting words whispered through the shadows as Rachel finally sank into sleep.

**oOo**

"Kahlan! Open the door!"

The hammering of fist against wood jolted Rachel out of slumber. It seemed as if she had just shut her eyes, yet golden sunlight flooded her chambers.

She must have been sleeping for hours.

But the sun wasn't shining.

Rachel stared in confusion at the pinpricks of stars framed by her window. A crescent moon hung low in the sky. It had been almost dawn when she closed her eyes, yet she gazed upon a night sky.

The ashes in the hearth were cold, the fire dead. No torches burned.

Yet the room glowed.

"Kahlan, I'm here. Please open the door."

**Rachel knew that voice.**

Richard had arrived.

Forty-one years had gone by like a dream.

She was prepared.

Perfectly composed, Rachel strode to the door.

For once in her life she knew exactly what to do.

Entering the hallway, Rachel flinched away from the glare of light surrounding the figures before her. Then, as her eyes adjusted, their features came into focus.

The woman was a stranger. She was Mord'Sith. At first glance, the blonde looked much like Mistress Theta. But on closer inspection, there was little similarity. Comparing Theta to this sleek creature was like comparing a sparrow to an eagle.

Standing beside the Mord'Sith was the man Rachel had known her entire life.

The Seeker of Truth.

The childhood hero.

The love of her mother's life.

Rachel's promise to her mother.

The hope that fueled her mother's days.

The burden Rachel had carried for years.

Her father's murderer.

Her mother's savior.

The reason for Rachel's existence and the agent of her destruction.

Richard had shadowed her life since the moment of her conception, yet the young man now standing before her seemed tenative and bewildered.

"Welcome, Richard." Rachel said quietly. "I've been waiting for you."

"Kahlan?" he asked, the first expression of wonderment fading to disappointment the longer he studied her, then quickly tightening into determination. "Who are you?" he growled. "You look like her, but it's a ploy to fool me. Does Rahl think that I can be so easily duped? What have the two of you done to her?"

Rachel didn't respond right away, searching in her own heart for the answer, taking time to study this man who had so haunted her life.

Feeling oddly dislocated in time, yet undisturbed, she finally replied, "I'm their daughter, Richard. I'm Kahlan's child. I'm your brother's child. Darken Rahl is my father."

"That's impossible!" he blustered. "Kahlan would die before she would allow that monster to touch her. "And Darken Rahl is **not** my brother. What kind of lies has he been feeding you?"

At Rachel's words, the beautiful woman standing at attention behind Richard stalked forward, her brilliant green eyes intense and unwavering. "If you are Lord Rahl's daughter, then where is my son?" she demanded fiercely.

"I'm sorry, Cara," Rachel replied gently, "your son is dead. They're all dead now. They've been dead for many years."

'You," she stared pointedly at Richard," are the only one left."

How could that be true?

Why wasn't she overcome with grief at her parent's death? Knowledge she hadn't even been aware she possessed until she had spoken the words?

Rachel had never met this woman before, but knew her name.

Some inner wisdom seemed to be guiding her, and she followed where it led.

This woman, Cara, and Rachel's father had once had a child together, and he had only lived a few hours. She was troubled by a sudden doubt about the child's death.

Even if it were true, Rachel realized that she loved her father no less. Since she had awoken from her long sleep, her perceptions had sharpened, her capacity for understanding deepened.

The heaviness of spirit that had dragged her down for months was gone. In its place was a strange weightlessness, a feeling of exhilaration and purpose, so unlike the weak feeble creature she had once been.

This Rachel could perceive what had been and what might yet be, as if she stood outside of time.

The Mord'Sith's emotionless façade didn't crack as she resumed her position behind Richard, but the brief clenching of her jaw told Rachel more than any tears could convey.

"Take me to her," Richard rasped, "I have to see her."

"Very well," Rachel agreed. She led them down to the crypt, a chamber she remembered visiting only once before as a very young child. The walls glistened with condensation and the air grew clammier as they descended toward the final resting place of her family.

Her parents were entombed here. She could see their effigies in her mind's eye, yet she had no memory of how or when they had died.

Richard looked about anxiously as the walls closed in on them. He said nothing, but Rachel sensed his dread.

"This is it," she whispered. They had come to an ornate door inlaid with mother-of-pearl. Fresh flowers bloomed in the vases which adorned each side of the entrance.

Who replaced them every day?

Rachel pulled forth a large key and turned it in the lock, pushing the heavy door inward.

She gestured for Richard and Cara to proceed into the crypt, but just as she started to follow, the hairs on the back of her neck stood up.

She could not go into that room!

"I'll wait for you out here," she managed to gasp.

The inner calm that had sustained Rachel thus far deserted her as she struggled for breath, fighting against the urge to turn and run back up the stairs.

Her teeth chattered with cold and panic as she listened to Richard's grief. His sobs gently ebbed into murmured endearments uttered to the chiseled likeness of the woman he had loved.

The other Rachel, the strong Rachel, was trying to exert control. She must listen to that inner voice and obey. There was something very important she had to do.

Something she had to tell Richard.

Time was running out.

Richard and Cara finally rejoined her in the passageway. His face was streaked with tears. Cara's visage was impassive, carved in granite. Rachel didn't waste time condoling with them, but almost shoved them up the stairs in her impatience to leave.

Richard side-eyed her disgustedly. No doubt her failure to mourn with him, as well as her unseemly eagerness to abandon her parents to their eternal sleep, only hardened his conviction that Rachel must be a monster.

Just like her father.

Mere seconds later, the trio entered Lord Rahl's audience chamber. Rachel puzzled over how they could have climbed so many levels and traversed the distance so quickly. The People's Palace was huge, and the crypt had been constructed to be as remote from the world of light and life as possible.

But this was no room of light and life.

Her father's lonely throne dominated the center of the room. Dust swirled up around them with every step. A swallow, startled from her nest in the high rafters by their intrusion, swooped down over their heads, then escaped through a window rimmed by jagged edges of glass. The floor was littered with dead leaves, dirt and debris. Rachel jumped as a tiny body scurried over her foot in its dash to safety.

When she was last in this room, only two weeks before in old-Rachel time, it had been immaculate, teeming with the everyday business of palace life, as her father presided over all before him. Yet the new Rachel, the strong Rachel, felt no shock at the disarray and neglect before her, no surprise at the years that must have passed since that day.

"What's happened here?" Richard demanded. "Don't you care at all about your own people? Who rules here now, if you don't?"

_Now is the time, Rachel. Speak. _

Strong Rachel prodded her.

"You do, Richard," Rachel asserted. "You are the Lord Rahl. My father has been dead for years. D'Hara has been without a king for too long. It's been waiting for you. **We've **been waiting for you."

Richard gaped at her, slack-jawed, then shook his head. "I am not a Rahl, and I am not going to let this…any of this…happen." He lifted his hand, palm out, as if deflecting any argument. "There has to be a way to change all of this, to go back and make sure that it never happens. There has to be a way for Kahlan and I to be together again."

"There is no way back, Richard. This is where you belong. This is where, **and when**, you are needed most," Rachel was adamant. "You will only sow discord and violence if you return to the life you knew. That time and that place endured, even prospered, without you."

Rachel stepped over to him, glass and dead leaves crackling underfoot as her skirts trailed behind her. "There was a reason you were brought here. It was no accident."

Richard pulled his hand back further, as if preparing to strike at her. His lips stretched into a grimace of anger and agony. "I am **not** a Rahl!" he hissed. "I will find a way to return to Kahlan with or without you. I'll do whatever it takes."

Rachel did not give way. "Richard, there is no way back to Kahlan without me or mine, and I won't help you run away."

Both of them had been so caught up in their battle of wills that they had forgotten Cara. But the Mord'SIth now made her presence known in no uncertain terms.

"The woman speaks the truth, Seeker," she declared in a voice as sharp and clear as a diamond. "My agiel's magic can work through the Rahl bloodline," she touched the weapon at her side. If Darken Rahl is dead, then you are indeed Lord Rahl." A glimmer of what might have been regret passed over Cara's features.

Crisply, elegantly, she kneeled in front of Richard, fist over her heart.

"Get up!" he shouted at Cara. "I don't want D'Hara, I don't want to be Lord Rahl. I don't even want to be the Seeker. I just want Kahlan back."

Richard flung his pack to the floor. Tugging frantically at the buckles that held its contents, he glared at Rachel. "With what I have in here, I can force you to do anything I want," he snarled. "You will grovel to do my bidding."

Regarding the man before her, Rachel marveled at how – uncontrolled – this man was in comparison to her father.

"Is that the kind of man you are, Richard? Would you really abuse the Power of Orden to enslave others for your own selfish purposes? Is that the kind of man Kahlan believed you to be?" she snapped. "If I wished, I could easily confess you before you get the boxes assembled. I could do it right now." Rachel reached out and lightly touched her hand against his cheek.

Eyes wild with terror, Richard froze.

"But I won't." She pulled her hand back. "You don't need the Boxes of Orden to rule D'Hara, Richard. Put them away. Better yet, destroy them so that they can never be used.

Rachel was tired of arguing. It was almost time to leave.

"Read the book, Richard. It will help you understand the land and the people you must govern."

"I don't understand," he stammered. "What book?"

"My father knew you would need to learn so many things. He tried to write it all down for you." Rachel didn't have any idea what she was talking about. The words were coming from the same source of wisdom that had strengthened her during this whole confrontation.

Her father wasn't writing a book to help Richard.

In fact, everything spoken by her to the Seeker this night had been a repudiation of each careful plan laid down by both Kahlan Amnell and Darken Rahl in anticipation of Richard's arrival.

"Why would I follow the advice of a monster?"

"Darken Rahl may have committed wrongs in the past, but that was not all that he was. You didn't know him, so don't pass judgment so easily. At least **he** didn't run away from his responsibilities," Rachel cried, for the first time completely losing patience with this man. "My father cared about his people more than you will ever know, and I loved him very much." Her voice choked with unshed tears. "He did his best."

"Just read the book," she sighed. "It's all there."

_Father will write it. _

_When it's time._ Strong Rachel assured her, and she believed.

Rachel turned to leave, the hem of her dress swirling up a cloud of dust in the desolate room.

She was so tired. The sense of lightness and joy, the inner calm, was dissipating rapidly. Old Rachel was pulling on her again.

"Wait!" Richard called after her. "What about you? Why didn't you try to rule when your father died? What happened?"

A sliver of fear ran through Rachel's veins.

What **had** happened to her?

For that matter, where were her children? The Confessor grandchildren her father had wanted so desperately.

Rachel's inner voice had gone silent, leaving her lost and alone once more.

It was time to leave.

She had rejected the plotting of both of her parents, reaching out to Richard in the only way she could to deliver her own message.

Rachel had already started walking away when the floor, the walls, even Richard himself, began to lose shape, twisting and spiraling around her. She staggered, trying to maintain her footing as the room tilted crazily.

She grabbed at the doorframe to keep her balance, but her hand passed through oak if through thin air. There was nothing solid to grasp onto.

Richard was still calling after her, but she couldn't understand what he was saying any longer.

She had to get away.

Richard started to pound on the doorframe with his fists. Rachel couldn't fathom how he had reached her so quickly, or why his flesh struck solid wood while hers could not.

He wouldn't stop yelling, his fists now practically splintering the door.

She had given him everything she had. What more did he want?

There was nothing left.

The thudding and shouting grew louder.

Then the world exploded into light.


	21. Love

**Love**

"Sweeting, are you all right?"

Rachel squinted against the blazing light that drenched the room, some part of her dimly recognizing the voice calling from the other side of the door.

If Richard would just stop that dreadful hammering, maybe she could figure out what who it was.

Turning her face away from the glare, Rachel sought to get her bearings, heart thudding in her chest as she sought to grab on to something – anything – that would keep her from spiraling into the void.

But thankfully the world had stopped corkscrewing around her. Now if she could just get to her feet and escape this dreadful place.

Rachel's fingers found the comfort of solid wood and gripped, striving to pull herself upright.

It was no good.

Hands slippery with sweat and exhaustion, she fell back to the floor. But instead of meeting cold marble, her cheek came to rest against something soft and warm. She just needed a few minutes to catch her breath before trying again.

"My Lady!"

Whoever was yelling sounded very frantic.

Finally gathering enough strength to raise her head, Rachel studied her surroundings, eyes adjusting to the brightness in the room.

She was in her own bed, the mid-day sun pouring through the windows. Its warmth filled the chamber.

Propping herself up groggily against the pillows, Rachel glanced about the room. Everything was just as it had always been. The bedclothes were twisted into a heap at the foot of the bed, where she must have pushed them during her sleep.

Bits and pieces of memory began seeping back into her mind.

Rachel dimly remembered coming in here and lying down just before dawn, while that horrible drunken woman – Bess? – was snoring in the sitting room.

She must have dozed off right after the hunting party left, and in a few hours of slumber traversed forty-one years.

It had all been a dream.

She had talked to Richard only in her imagination.

But never before had one of her dreams seemed so tangible.

So deliberate.

Rachel's dream-self had acted with a purpose and decisiveness she had never exerted in daily life, and whatever force had driven that dream-self hovered just beyond Rachel's waking comprehension.

"Lady! Sweeting! **Rachel! **Answer me! Open this door," Mags shouted. "When did you start locking your door anyway?"

"I'm fine, Mags, just give me a minute," Rachel croaked, her throat raw. Her mouth tasted of dust.

Wearily Rachel stood and pulled a robe on over her nightshift and a scarf over her sleep - tousled hair, her stiff movements those of a woman five times her age, every muscle in her body aching and sore. Shuffling across the room, she felt as if she really **had** spent the past few hours running up and down stairs, and all over the palace.

Pulling back the bolt, she had barely opened the door before she was swept up in sturdy maternal arms. Wincing in pain against the fervent embrace, Rachel kissed Mags on the cheek before gently releasing herself.

"Mags, I've missed you so much, but I didn't think you would be back until tomorrow."

Rachel's vivid dreams often caused her to lose track of time.

"Yes, lass, but I felt like a fifth wheel around that place with the new wife taking over. I raised every single one of those nephews, yet not a one of'em picked a woman worth my little finger. I'd overstayed my welcome and thought I'd come back to where I was needed."

The woman gestured at the empty sofa with disgust. "I warned them not to let that lack-wit Bess watch over you, but it looks like they didn't listen."

Mags was always talking about the mysterious "they" who seemed to be anyone and everyone who didn't see eye-to-eye with her view of the world. "The sot was snoring away when I walked into the room. I could have been an invading army come to carry you off for all she knew. I got her sorted out fast enough and sent her back to sweeping up after Lord Rahl's guests. I think she's sober enough by now to manage that much."

Despite her worries, Rachel was relieved to have her beloved companion back. "I'm so glad you're here. I always feel so lost without you."

Her smile faltered as her waking problems flooded over her again.

"Ah, what's this, sweeting? Nothing's changed then with your father, has it?" Mags asked softly. "Well, he'll come round, I'm sure of it."

"I only have two more days, Mags. If he hasn't even talked to me in a week, what's going to change in two days?"

"Lass, I know it sounds harsh, but it's not the end of the world. You're not getting **married** in two days. it's still only a betrothal. You have plenty of time," Mags tried to reassure her young mistress.

"You don't know all of it," Rachel was dangerously close to tears. It seemed that she was always close to tears these days. "There's more. There are things that woman said about Father, about how he feels about me, terrible things. And I know that some of them are true. I've seen it in his face – in his eyes."

"What woman?" Mags demanded. "Bess? That one doesn't know where she's at half the time, much less anything about Lord Rahl. I doubt he's ever spoken to her, or even looked at her for that matter."

Rachel shook her head. "No, not Bess," she whispered.

"Who, then? Tell me, child."

But Rachel had already said too much. Even if she broke her promise to Bess and told Mags about Mistress Theta, it wouldn't change anything, so why get the poor woman in more trouble.

Mags chucked Rachel gently under the chin. "You listen to me, Lass. Your father put me in charge of your care when you were less than a week old. He spoke to me personally, he did. Since then I've seen the two of you together more times than I can count. I've seen the way he looks when he talks about you, and I've seen the way he looks at you when you don't even know it."

"Lord Rahl's not a man to show his feelings. Men like him think it's a weakness. But if there's ever been an exception to that, it's for you. I may not be a Confessor, but even I can see the way he feels about you."

Rachel wasn't convinced. "That was **before**, Mags, before…. everything happened. He doesn't feel the same way about me now."

She gazed at the other woman despondently. "Sometimes I think he's beginning to hate me."

Rachel had never broached the subject of Kahlan's fate with her nurse, although Margaret had to have known something was drastically wrong. Rachel couldn't bear to bring it up because of her own pain and guilt. Also, she was well aware that Mags cared very little for the queen.

Margaret was raised in a D'Haran family that had been loyal to the House of Rahl for generations. While she loved to talk about her nephews serving in the Third Battalion and the Dragon Corp, she rarely mentioned her own parents, her brothers or her fiancé.

Jonathon Egremont was a good friend of one of Margaret's nephews, and several years ago had told Rachel about her nurse's family.

Margaret's father and older brother had been killed defending Darken Rahl from an assassination attempt at Ravensburg, during which Jonathon's own father had been severely wounded. Her younger brothers had died at the hands of the Resistance, and her fiancé had been murdered, along with the rest of his quad, by his confessed commander.

Mags had many reasons to dislike Kahlan Amnell. She and her family had been quietly appalled at Lord Rahl's marriage to the Seeker's staunchest ally. But despite her reservations, the woman had, almost against her will, come to love the Confessor's daughter as dearly as she could have loved any child born of her own body.

"Pish, child!" Mags said impatiently. "When they were growing up there were times I would have cheerfully throttled any one of my nephews. Christopher was a constant trial to me - running off for days at a time, once even setting the house on fire. Yet all the same, I would have given my life for any of them without a second thought. Anybody who tells you that they've never been angry with, or had moments when they've even hated, someone they love is a liar."

Rachel stared at her wide-eyed, hanging onto every word.

Mags regarded Rachel keenly. "Tell me, sweeting, how is it possible for even a Confessor to know the entire truth of a person just by looking into their eyes for a few moments? What can that possibly tell you other than what they are thinking or feeling right at that minute? How can you ever know what they might have been thinking the day before – even five minutes before? How can you know what they will be thinking or feeling a day later? I don't pretend to be a wise woman, but my own life has taught me that people are confoundedly hard to understand."

"Promise me - the next time you question your father's feelings for you, remind yourself of what I've just told you."

"I promise," Rachel said hopefully. Mag's common sense approach to love and life had never been part of her years of training.

"Enough of this moping about!" Mags blustered. "You're white as a sheet, thin as a rail and your hair looks a tangled mess. You're going to eat something even if I have to stand over you and force every bite into your mouth."

Rachel grinned. She was feeling much better. "I **am **hungry, but first I need to bathe and get dressed."

She pulled off the large robe and her scarf and let them drop to the floor. Her hair, freed from the wrap, tumbled about her shoulders.

Mags gasped in shock. She had been so intent on easing Rachel's inner hurt that she had not taken time to really **look** at the girl until now.

"Where on earth have you been, child? What's happened to you?" She strode over to Rachel's side, tenderly brushing her fingers through the girl's hair. Withered leaves and cobwebs came away in her hand as dust swirled around both of them. A small shard of glass clinked as it hit the floor.

Rachel gazed down at her nightshift. She had only put it on last night, yet now it was filthy, smeared with dirt and sweat.

Her foot stung. Tossing off a slipper, she saw the source of the pain – a sliver of glass was lodged in her toe.

Numbly, she recalled walking through the debris and dust of her father's deserted audience chamber forty-one years in the future.

She remembered the shattered glass littering the floor.

The words spoken to Richard rang clearly in her head.

Was this the reason her entire body ached to the bone, as if she had been yanked from one reality into another?

Had Rachel somehow been with her uncle in the future, talked to him and then returned, ending up in exactly the same place as she had begun?

**It was impossible!**

**Maybe she was losing her mind.**

Through a mounting haze of terror, Rachel groped for purchase in a world where the line between reality and dreams was beginning to blur.

She struggled to hide her fear.

"I wanted to wear one of my old rings, Mags, but couldn't find it. I looked everywhere. I even crawled under the bed and went through all the old closets. I didn't realize what a grubby mess I was," Rachel explained.

"I never found the ring though," she finished faintly.

Mags looked doubtful, but said nothing as she bustled off to draw a hot bath.

Rachel wished she could tell her the truth, if she only knew what it was.

**oOo**

An hour later, after soaking the grime from her body and changing into clean clothes, Rachel managed to force down some hot tea and piece of dry toast under the anxious supervision of Mags. After the meager lunch, she settled herself in the window seat. Absently chewing on a thumbnail, she went through the motions of reading a book she memorized years ago.

Spending too many days confined in these rooms was making her grow morbid. She must stop fretting and start planning.

It had been cowardly of her to ask poor Mags to relay messages to Father. Rachel should have gone to him days ago, but had been too timid. She had ventured into the hallway several times over the past week and had never been questioned or stopped, so it was doubtful that her father had even ordered the guards to confine her.

He had relied on her to be her own jailor, and she had docilely complied.

Father and the others would be back by early evening. A day on horseback in the open air always put him in good humor. He usually liked a glass of wine when he first returned. That might be the best time to waylay him.

He was a fastidious man. It might be better to wait until he had bathed and changed.

Perhaps even wiser to wait until he had supped and was completely at ease for the evening.

This was ridiculous. She was going to talk herself out of doing anything if she didn't stop dithering.

Rachel determined that she would go to him as he was enjoying his wine. She would speak to him respectfully but firmly, setting out her case calmly and without tears. Surely he would listen.

Both her mother and Mistress Theta had wanted to convince her that father didn't care for her, but she had to push their words aside and, instead, cling to Margaret's wisdom about the nature of love.

Yes, her father had been angry with her, but that didn't erase everything else he felt for her. Rachel knew he had loved her. That security had warmed her childhood. She couldn't have imagined it.

_Ah – but didn't you believe the same about your mother and look how that turned out. _

She battled her qualms. Mother had loved her, too, until Rachel had destroyed her life. And for a few hours last winter, she had hated her mother enough to make the disastrous decision that had blown everything apart.

But Rachel's love for her mother had conquered her hatred.

Might it not be the same for her mother? If Rachel could only talk to Kahlan, maybe her mother could begin to understand why her daughter had broken her promise.

Maybe Mother would forgive her.

Maybe Rachel could finally forgive herself.

She made a silent vow. If her mother would absolve her, if her father would soften towards her again, Rachel would carry out his wishes without complaint. The problem, of course, was that she couldn't gain her mother's forgiveness without disobeying her father, stirring him to greater wrath. She would have to take the risk, and beg his forgiveness after.

She would promise to marry the man chosen for her, turning him into a mindless slave.

She would use her abilities as a Confessor at her father's bidding and continue to endure his endless lectures about what to do when Richard arrived.

Rachel had her own opinions about Richard's arrival, but if her experience with her mother had taught her anything, it was to keep certain truths close to her heart. She would nod and smile at her father, and keep her own counsel.

Rachel would dutifully bear children in order to continue the line of Confessors, while trying not to reflect too hard on the absence of any Confessors in her dream.

What had happened to her children?

Why hadn't she been able to mourn before her parent's tombs? Why couldn't she even enter the room? Rachel shivered again at the memory of the crypt.

As bleak as it seemed, the future mapped out by her father was still better than the future her mother had intended for her daughter.

Daughters of great men rarely chose their fates. She was more fortunate than most.

For an instant, Rachel wondered what her life would have been if she had been a different kind of person – stronger, more rebellious, defiant, independent. But she couldn't change her basic nature.

Perhaps such rebellion would have brought about only more grief.

There was little time left for reflection. Her father's party would be returning in a few hours. If she was going to see her mother, it had to be now.

Worried that Mags might be blamed for her actions, Rachel sent the woman on an errand in the village. She longed to confide in her, but dare not.

The less her beloved Mags knew, the safer she would be.

Studying her reflection in the mirror, Rachel changed into a different dress and drug a comb through her thick hair. In deference to her mother, she donned white instead of D'Haran red. She ran her fingers thoughtfully over the amber pendant she wore round her throat. The chain had once belonged to her paternal grandmother, a woman Rachel had never met, but who she knew had died very young and very alone. Rachel's father had given the precious relic to her on the eve of her twelfth birthday.

It was her greatest treasure.

Drawing a deep breath to fortify her resolve, Rachel turned away from her image and walked out of the room, closing the door firmly behind her.

Nobody challenged her as she walked the length of the hallway, nor when she crossed the great audience room towards her mother's chambers, a lonely white figure amidst a sea of red.

* * *

**A/N:** **The story behind Rachel's amber pendant and why it is so precious to her can be found in my short fic "Legacy" which was posted here a few months ago.**


	22. Reunion

** Reunion**

"Captain, I've talked to every guard, Mord'Sith and servant assigned to that wing of the palace. Nobody admits to seeing or hearing anything unusual outside the Princess's apartments last night."

Jonathon Egremont nodded wearily at the earnest officer standing before him. "What about guests, Lieutenant? Have you accounted for all of them?"

"Yes, sir. Perhaps it was just an accident." Evans was in charge of security for the royal family, and understandably terrified of the implications that someone on his watch had been derelict in his duties. "Creighton was a good man. Maybe he heard something unusual in the passageway, went to check on it and lost his footing. Those back stairs are treacherous."

"Maybe," Jonathon said doubtfully, gazing down at the body stretched out on the table. The rarely used back passages **were** in sad need of repair. It was as good an explanation as any, but he couldn't ignore the suspicion pricking the back of his mind.

Jonathon had risen before dawn in readiness to accompany Lord Rahl and the rest of the hunting party, Captain Brandon having been quietly ousted from the company the evening before. However, the king had excused him, saying that four Mord'Sith and fifteen men-at-arms should be quite enough protection for the day.

After a light breakfast, Jonathon had gratefully returned to his bed, only to be roused out of a sound sleep several hours later by a frantic Lieutenant Evans. The officer had informed him that Sergeant Creighton, the guard posted outside of Rachel's apartment's the night before, had been found lying at the bottom of the backstairs with a broken neck.

Jonathon had immediately raced to the princess's rooms to assure himself of her safety. Mags had met him at the door and put his mind to rest, telling him that Rachel was getting dressed and hadn't mentioned anything out of the ordinary. The nurse had just returned from the country herself, but gave him the name of the woman who had attended the princess during the night.

The interview with Bess had proved frustrating. The woman had whimpered and moaned, swearing that she had slept through the entire night without disturbance. Jonathon felt sure that she was lying, but could prove nothing. He and Evans had then spent the better part of the afternoon trying to track down anyone who might have seen or talked to the victim.

Trying to massage away the headache beginning to throb behind his eyes, Jonathon bent down to study the dead man more closely. The Lieutenant might have missed something earlier.

Creighton's hands were curled into fists as if he had either been fighting with somebody before he fell, or possibly wrapping his fingers around an attacker's stranglehold in an attempt to free himself. Jonathon took the man's left hand into his own, flinching inwardly at the touch of cold flesh. He had not been acquainted with Creighton, and as a soldier had seen his share of death, but it was always disturbing, and the circumstances of this particular fatality were deeply unsettling.

He carefully pried Creighton's fingers open.

Nothing.

He did the same with the soldier's right hand, stomach clenching with apprehension. There, in the center of the man's palm, lay a scrap of dark red leather. He glanced up sharply at the sound of Evans' startled grunt. The Lieutenant had gone pale.

"Do you think it was one of our own that killed him, sir?" the officer stammered. "I don't remember any mention of trouble between him and any of the other men."

"Maybe it wasn't one of our own," Jonathon said grimly. "You wait here. I need to look at that stairway again."

His heart thumped in his chest as he ran back to the site where Creighton had been found. Panting with exertion, he knelt down on the granite floor, a torch grabbed from a wall sconce in one hand, running his other over every inch of the rough surface.

**There!**

He had almost brushed it away, believing it only a spider's web.

Holding it up closer to his face, the silky strand reflected gold in the torchlight.

A single blonde hair, too long to belong to any man who served in the palace.

Mord'Sith.

Jonathon had no doubt as to whom it belonged.

The insolent woman who had smiled at him so seductively and contemptuously the evening before.

Who must have heard every word spoken between Jonathon and Lord Rahl.

Who had ridden off in Lord Rahl's company only this morning.

_But why would Mistress Theta have come up these stairs last night? Lord Rahl's quarters were in another wing of the palace. _

The Mord'Sith could have had only one purpose. For some reason, she had wanted to see Rachel.

_But why?_

Rachel despised the woman.

There was so much he didn't understand, but Jonathon felt sure Theta had not been here on Lord Rahl's orders. She must have had some reason unknown to her master.

He recalled Bess's jabbering fear when questioned earlier. She had been hiding something. Theta must have threatened her within an inch of her life.

The woman didn't know how lucky she was. Or maybe she did, and had no intention of bringing down further trouble on herself.

Yet only a few hours ago Mags had assured him of Rachel's safety. Jonathon had known Margaret and her family for years. She was devoted to the princess. There was no reason for her to lie.

The lynchpin that would enable him to fit all of the pieces together lay just beyond his grasp.

But of one thing he was coldly certain.

Mistress Theta had murdered the man entrusted to safeguard Rachel's life.

For the second time that day, Jonathon climbed the stairs and crossed the hallway to the princess's chambers, noting that no guard stood outside.

Why wasn't anybody doing their job?

He knocked firmly on the door. This time he would insist on talking to Rachel. They were friends. She could trust him.

Receiving no response, he called out for Mags to open the door.

Still nothing.

Pushing on the door, he was surprised when it swung gently open. The vacant sitting room was bathed in afternoon sunlight.

"Mags – are you here? My lady?"

There was no answer.

Tentatively, Jonathon stepped over the threshold and called again.

The door to the bedchamber stood ajar. While he was hesitant to invade Rachel's privacy, he was growing more worried by the second. Striding over to the inner room, he peered inside. The bed was empty, the bedclothes tangled in a heap on the floor.

"Rachel?"

There was nobody here.

Puzzled and alarmed, Jonathon walked back out into the hallway.

Why would she leave without securing the door? And why in the Creator's name was there no gua-

"**Sir! Captain Egrmont, sir!"**

The young man froze into a salute, his features taut with fright.

"Are you the imbecile who's supposed to be in charge of the princess's welfare today?" Jonathon snapped.

"Yes, sir, but she told me that I could take a few minutes for myself, sir."

"Explain yourself!"

"The princess sent the nurse on an errand, and said she was leaving for a time. Told me I could take a break since I'd been standing for so long."

Jonathon felt like tearing his hair out by the roots. "Did you know the door was unlocked? What if an assassin had crept inside while you were 'taking your break' and hid until the princess returned? How would you have explained that to Lord Rahl?"

"I don't know, Sir." The soldier wilted under the Captain's glare. "She told me – "

The man **was** an imbecile.

"Never mind what she told you, I am ordering you to remain here until you are relieved. Is that understood?"

Turning on his heel, Jonathon stomped away without a backward glance.

Every bone in his body told him that Rachel needed his help. He would find her, even if it meant scouring every square cubit of the palace.

**oOo**

Rachel strode purposefully through the giant audience chamber, nodding and smiling graciously at every person she encountered. Her father had always said that if one acted with enough confidence, others would assume that you had a perfect right to do whatever it was you were doing.

It seemed to be working thus far.

Once she had reached a quieter wing of the palace, Rachel paused briefly to catch her breath. The blood was pounding in her ears and her hands were clammy with sweat.

Every guard she had passed had nodded his head in deference and made no move to hinder her. Every Mord'Sith had gazed at her inscrutably, but issued no challenge.

The entrance to the corridor sheltering her mother's apartments was around the next corner. Rachel knew that she would meet resistance there. Those guarding her mother had been warned to permit no access to anybody other than Lord Rahl himself or to his highest in command.

Bracing herself, she turned the corner and marched up to the door leading into the hallway.

Four men wearing the uniform of the Dragon Corp met her at the entry.

"I'm sorry, my Lady, but you aren't allowed to go any further." The oldest officer had come forward to meet her. His tone was firm but respectful.

"Officer, I certainly have the right to visit my own mother. Kindly step aside and let me pass," Rachel said quietly.

_Act with confidence. Make them believe you._

"I can't do that, your highness."

The man's gaze never left hers, although he was careful to keep more than an arm's length between them. "We have orders that nobody is allowed to see the queen without Lord Rahl's personal authorization."

"My father **has** approved this. We spoke about it last night," she lied.

Rachel prayed that the officer didn't know about her estrangement from her father, but it was a faint hope. Palace gossip spread faster than dragon's breath.

"My lady, do you have any proof of this?"

"Why should I need proof? My word is sufficient." Rachel started to walk past the officer, but he stepped in front of her again.

"I'm sorry, princess, but Lord Rahl has stated explicitly that **you **are never to be permitted access to the queen."

"What are you talking about? She's my mother. I can't believe Father would say that. When was this order issued?"

"I'm very sorry, your highness. The king issued additional orders last week making it very clear that you not be allowed past this point." The guard's voice was almost kind. Somehow, that made it even worse.

Her father had not only refused her request at their last meeting, he had taken pains to cut Rachel off even further from her mother.

_How dare he!_

Rage coursed through her blood, turning her vision red, summoning the magic that she usually kept so suppressed.

"Let me through –** now**!" She reached out, longing to wrap her fingers around the guard's burly neck. The officer stepped back hastily, as the other three stepped forward in his defense.

She felt dizzy with the power racing through her body.

But – there were four of them. If she confessed one, even two, she would still have to contend with the others, and she didn't have enough strength to confess them all. She would have gained nothing.

They were at an impasse.

Then one of the guards shouted to someone behind her. "Captain! Sir! Could you give us some help over here?"

_Coward! _

_Weren't four guards enough to deal with one woman – even if she was a Confessor?_

Hard-soled boots approached as a familiar voice sounded in her ear.

"Rachel…Princess. I've been looking everywhere for you," Jonathon Egremont exclaimed with relief.

Distracted, Rachel looked anxiously over her shoulder as the captain approached. Taking in the situation at a glance, he lowered his voice, speaking calmly and slowly, "What's wrong, your highness? I was worried about you."

"Captain Egremont, would you please order your men to let me pass so I can visit my mother?"

Tears of anger and humiliation sprang to her eyes as she pulled her hand back to her side. In Rachel's dreams, the Seeker of Truth did her bidding, yet she was powerless to sway her father's underlings.

"Highness, why don't you come with me and we can talk about it - privately?" Jonathon gestured toward a small antechamber by the entry.

She glared at the guards before following him into the small room.

"What's this all about, Rachel?" Jonathan asked gently. "Nobody is allowed to see your mother. You know that." He looked distressed.

She refused to listen.

"Tell them to let me through, Jonathon. Tell them! They'll obey you." Her voice was shrill, sliding out of control.

"Rachel, you **know** I can't do what you ask," he said kindly. "Please try to understand my position. I'll take you back to your rooms, and then, when your father returns, you can talk to him about it. I'll stay with you if you want."

He was so condescending – treating her as if she were a five-year-old child.

_She hated it!_

"It will be too late then! I have to see Mother **now**." Rachel's fragile mask of confidence had fallen away.

_She hated __**him**__!_

_It was such a simple thing she was asking. Why couldn't anybody else see how important it was to her? _

_Why should she have to beg to see her own mother?_

_Who did this man think he was? If he were really her friend, he would help her instead of stopping her._

Jonathon put his arm around her carefully. "I'll take you back to Mags now, Rachel, and when Lord Rahl arrives, I'll tell him that you need to speak with him."

She jerked away from his touch.

"I'm going to see my mother." Her voice was dangerously calm as she stared back at him.

He reached out to comfort her again, and this time Rachel reached back, the pent up anguish of months colliding and merging with the rush of her magic.

The air in the room seemed to collapse in on them with a silent thunderclap as her eyes swirled black.

Jolted to his knees, Jonathon gazed up at her in adoration.

"Command me, Confessor."

**oOo**

"Lieutenant, there seems to have been a misunderstanding," Captain Egremont declared, escorting Rachel over to the four guards huddled by the entry. "It appears that Lord Rahl has indeed granted permission for the princess to see her mother today. I've seen the orders myself. This visit is to be kept quiet, lieutenant, not to be discussed with anyone."

"With all due respect, Captain, could I see those orders?" It was the grizzled soldier who had stopped her earlier.

"**I've **seen them, and that's all the authorization you need," Egremont growled. "Get your men out of our way."

The guard squinted at him suspiciously, but grudgingly complied. "It's on your head then, Captain, not mine" he muttered.

Without further interference, she and her adoring companion walked down the eerily deserted corridor, their footsteps echoing down the hall.

Appalled by what she had just done, Rachel couldn't bring herself to look at Jonathon.

She had never envisioned herself as being capable of such cruelty. All of her previous confessions had been at her father's command, and her actions even when assured that the offender posed a threat to her father and family, had sickened her.

How had she reached the point of confessing, of her own volition, the man who had been her dearest friend?

The one man she had hoped would love her out of his own free will.

She couldn't even begin to contemplate what her father's reaction would be to her offense. Confessing Lord Rahl's closest advisor would have far greater consequences than Rachel's disobedience in visiting her mother.

They had arrived at her mother's chambers.

This was the goal for which she had risked everything. There would be more than enough time for regrets and recriminations later.

Rachel forced Jonathon's plight to the back of her mind.

"Wait here for me and don't let anyone intrude, do you understand me?" she ordered her new acolyte, unable to meet his worshipful gaze.

"Yes, mistress." The proud man was reduced to groveling servility.

**oOo**

Entering her mother's sitting room, Rachel gagged on the foul odor of rotting food, mold and unwashed bodies. A small fire smoldered in the hearth and a few torches flickered through a haze of smoke and wafting dust.

She gave herself a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. It was hard to believe that outside these rooms it was a glorious summer day.

Soft voices drifted from the bedchamber.

Rachel hesitated, uneasy. Perhaps this had been a mistake. But she had made too many irreparable decisions. She could only move forward.

The voices grew more distinct as she neared the entrance to her mother's bedchamber.

Alice came bustling through the doorway, almost running into her.

"Spirits! What are you doing here?" Alice looked bewildered. "Are you real?" Wonderingly, the woman touched Rachel's face with skeletal fingers.

"Lady, you are the first person I have seen in more than six months. Does your father know you're here?" Alice asked fearfully. "You may have brought trouble down on all of us."

"My father's out for the day and nobody will tell him I was here," Rachel said, not believing her own words. "Where is my mother?"

Alice glanced furtively behind her. Then Rachel heard her mother's voice. Kahlan seemed to be talking to someone inside the other room.

Rachel started into the bedchamber, but was halted by the other woman. "My lady, please, maybe you shouldn't have come here. It might be better not to see more. Your mother is – "

"Alice, who are you talking to?" Kahlan laughed. "We were having such a good time, now come back and finish the game with us."

"What do you mean – I shouldn't have come? Who is in there with my mother?" Rachel demanded as she pushed past Alice and entered the other chamber.

She froze in mid-stride.

Her mother wore a tattered white dress pulled down off of her shoulders, a sad parody of Rachel's own pristine attire. Kahlan's long hair, now tinged with silver, hung in a tangled mass down her back. She sat cross-legged on the bed with a card game spread out in front of her.

"Mother," Rachel said uncertainly.

Kahlan regarded her with a perplexed smile, "I don't think I know you. Have Richard and I met you somewhere before? I'm sorry, but we travel so much it's hard to remember faces and names."

Shrugging her shoulders indifferently, Rachel's mother turned back to her game, murmuring to herself, or to someone only she could see.

Alice went over to her mistress's side and stroked her hair back tenderly. "Kahlan, this is Rachel, she came to see you. "

Mother looked up fondly at her companion. "Do I have to talk to her, Alice?" she asked. "She's interrupting us, and Richard and I have so much to talk about."

"I think it would be the courteous thing to do, my lady. She's come a long way."

Kahlan sighed heavily, nodded and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Rising to her feet, she carefully smoothed her threadbare dress over her hips, and composed her features.

_She was so thin!_

"Hello, Rachel. I'm so glad to meet you," her mother's voice was now dutifully warm and welcoming, as if she hadn't dismissed the girl mere seconds before.

Smiling again, Kahlan walked over to her visitor and extended a hand in welcome. "I know another Rachel. She's only ten, such a lovely brave little girl. But I'm so glad you're here. Richard and I always enjoy company."

Motioning toward the foot of the bed, Kahlan proceeded to make her introductions, "Richard, this is Rachel. She's come to visit us, but I'm not sure exactly why." Her brow furrowed as if trying to remember something.

Suddenly Kahlan clapped her hands, laughing with delight, "Of course! You must have come for the wedding."

Stunned, Rachel could barely form words. "Is there going to be a wedding?" she finally managed.

"Isn't it wonderful? I can hardly believe it myself. "Kahlan wrapped her arms about her body, hugging herself with excitement. "Richard and I are going to be married in two days. We have waited so long."

"I can be with him now, you know," she said earnestly, touching the rada'han that hung loosely round her withered neck.

Rachel's breath caught in her throat. She couldn't allow herself to break down in tears. "Mother, what's wrong? I wanted to talk to you because I needed -"

Kahlan's smile vanished at Rachel's words. Confused and anxious, she started backing away warily from her visitor.

"What you mean? I don't have any children. Why would you accuse me of such a thing in front of Richard? I've never been with any other man." Kahlan's eyes narrowed with suspicion. "You want him for yourself, don't you? You can never have him. I'm the only woman he wants."

"No, mother, of course I don't want to take Richard away from you. I would never try. I just needed to talk about – "

"I said I'm not your mother! Why do you keep calling me that?"

"Rachel," Alice's interjected decisively, no longer the subservient companion, "I'm sure you understand that Kahlan and Richard need to be alone now to make their plans. Why don't I show you the way out?"

Rachel pushed her away. "I'll decide when I'm going to leave. I came here to talk to my mother."

Kahlan was becoming agitated. "Alice, I don't want this person here anymore. She reminds me of somebody, but I can't remember who it is. I don't want to think about it. Make her go away. "

This time Rachel did not resist as Alice led her through the outer chamber and toward the door.

"I came here to talk to my mother," she repeated numbly, trying to grasp what was happening.

"As you can see, your mother isn't here anymore. She's gone," Alice said harshly. "Your **mother** is happier now than she has been since before you were born, so please go away and leave her alone. Haven't you caused her enough grief? Let her have this small bit of happiness in her life."

The two women faced each other at the entry – one in supplication, the other in judgment.

"Alice, I never meant to hurt her. I never intended any of this to happen." She implored.

"It's a little late for regrets, don't you think?" Without another word, Alice shut the door in Rachel's face.


	23. Escape

**Escape**

"Mistress! Has anyone harmed you?"

The man who used to be Jonathon Egremont rushed to Rachel's side as she stumbled out into the hallway. "I can't bear to see you cry," he groaned, taking her in his arms.

She encompassed his entire world.

Jonathon's loyalty to his king, his duty, his honor, his betrothed, his family, all of his ambitions and hopes were nothing compared to this wondrous creature. They belonged to a different life.

A life that was no longer important.

A life he could barely remember.

Gazing at the man she could have loved, Rachel was consumed by pity, guilt – and disgust – for both of them.

Dashing the tears from her eyes, she regained her composure. "I'm fine, Captain." She managed a wan smile. "There's nothing more you can do. Everybody has already paid too high a price."

"You most of all," Rachel added sadly.

Jonathon, like Margaret, had never sought to use her for his own purposes. He had been her friend, a bastion of affection and strength. In return, she had taken his life away.

There was nothing she could do now to undo the damage she had wrought. Confession was for life.

"Please take me to my rooms, Captain," she instructed, gently taking his arm. Together they strode past the guards who had challenged her earlier, and weaved through the gaggle of courtiers and servants scurrying about the palace.

At their approach, the young officer guarding Rachel's apartments clasped his fist to his chest in salute. He blinked in surprise when told he was dismissed. "But Captain, just a few minutes ago you ordered me to remain here," he stammered.

"Never mind what I said earlier!" Egremont snapped, "I'll take over the rest of your watch." Once they were alone, Jonathon turned back to her, eyes shining with devotion.

"What is your command, Mistress?"

"Stay by the door, Captain. I want to be left alone. Don't let anyone pass. I'll be out in a few minutes."

"What if Lord Rahl wishes to see you? What if Mags comes back? Am I to forbid them entry?" Egremont queried.

Rachel's heart sank at his unthinking willingness to defy his king at the whim of a seventeen-year old girl. "I'll be leaving before my father returns, and Mags should be gone for at least another hour."

"Leaving? Where are we going, Mistress?"

"We'll talk about it soon," she assured him. "I'll only be a little while."

Upon entering her chambers, Rachel knees gave out from under her. Collapsing onto the sofa, she broke into gasping sobs, holding her hands over her mouth to muffle the sound.

What_ was she going to do?_

She and Jonathon were enmeshed in a trap of her own making.

**oOo**

The bay stallion fought against the bit as Darken pulled back on the reins, allowing the others a chance to catch up. Although the legates from Rothenburg and Tamarang had been his guests for several days, up until this morning he had managed to avoid their company apart from the obligatory formalities. But the exhilaration of the hunt more than compensated for the tediousness of their company.

Darken had little skill with a bow, but was an excellent horseman and craved the thrill of pursuit, the challenge of cornering his prey. After that, the kill held little interest.

It had been a successful day - ten stags slain, including a rare twenty point buck that had charged them when flushed into the open. Mistress Theta, with lethal accuracy, had taken the white stag down with two arrows. Darken admired the animal's bravery when surrounded, but the magnificent creature had never stood a chance against his Mord'Sith.

Theta's blood was up and Darken knew from experience that he could look forward to a memorable night.

His blood raced with anticipation.

And his bones ached with exhaustion.

The years were starting to take their toll. Once he would have returned from an excursion like this more invigorated than before he set out. Darken hated to admit how much he longed for a steaming bath and the luxury of lying down in a warm bed – alone.

At least he was not the only one ready to return to the comforts of the palace. The ambassadors could barely move. The horses were lathered and the hounds panted with exertion, tongues lolling out of their mouths.

Gesturing at his men-at-arms and his Mord-Sith – Theta, Alix and the newest one, from last night, he couldn't remember her name – Darken signaled that it was time to gather up their weapons and their trophies and start back.

Theta swung herself into the saddle, pouting in disappointment. "My Lord, the forest here is teeming with deer, there's so much more to –

"Are you questioning my orders, Mistress Theta?" Darken asked, hoping there was more menace than weariness into his tone.

"No, my Lord, " she replied coolly. "If I had realized how tired you were I would have suggested we turn back several hours ago." Theta regarded him with feigned concern.

Darken bristled at the insult.

"Go to the rear and help your sisters with trussing the game. I'm sure your assistance would be appreciated," he snapped, knowing the very opposite was true.

Trying to hide her annoyance at being assigned the demeaning task, the Mord'Sith glanced over at the other two women. "They've already finished," she said. "Surely my skills can be put to better use protecting **you**, my Lord."

"Was your duty to protect me ever in doubt, Theta? Don't presume to instruct me on how best to use your particular…skills." There could be no mistaking the threat in his voice now.

How dare she question his authority, even implicitly?

Why was she always so lacking in subtlety or perception?

Why was she so – empty?

Why couldn't she be the woman he really wanted?

The woman he had lost.

It was not only intelligence, bravery and ruthlessness that had gained Cara a place at Darken's side. She had possessed the ability to discern his frame of mind at a glance, often deflecting his anger with a wry observation that would lighten his mood without questioning his supremacy. In return, Darken had come to learn that Cara never challenged him without good reason, and that when she did so, it was wise to heed her words.

He had never found her equal. He never would.

Shaking himself out of his reverie, Darken decided that the discussion with Theta was not worth pursuing.

Perhaps another sign of advancing age.

He forced a tight smile and permitted Theta to resume her place.

It was hardly her fault that she was only a shadow of the fire and beauty he had once possessed.

They rode on in silence, the soft snuffling of the horses and creaking of leather harness blending with rustling leaves and birdsong. The sun was starting to sink below the treetops.

The hunters had ranged farther than Darken had intended, and it would be at least another hour before they arrived home. He began to feel a vague sense of unease. If their mounts hadn't have been so winded, he would have insisted on a faster pace.

During the day, Darken had pushed the events of the previous evening to the back of his mind. But as they drew nearer to the palace, their implications could no longer be avoided - the conversation with Egremont, the hope that Darken could finally give Rachel what she desired crushed almost as soon as it had arisen, the cowardice that had kept him from going to her afterward.

Rachel had been frantic with worry and distress over the past week. She had repeatedly begged an audience with him. Yet Darken had ridden off this morning leaving her alone to brood. He could at least have assured her of his change of heart before he left.

Darken's earlier unease had blossomed into a cold heavy pressure against his ribs.

It was a feeling only his child could inspire in him, from the moment when he had first denied her some childish wish of little importance to him, but meaning the world to her.

Guilt had been an emotion alien to Darken before Rachel's birth. Even the flashes of remorse that occasionally stabbed him over the murder of his son hadn't begun until he had experienced the daily realities of fatherhood. Until then, the boy had been an abstraction to him.

Darken hated it – this lead weight. Yet it was part and parcel of what he had wanted so desperately.

For so many years love had been an unknown territory. His mother might have loved him once, he couldn't remember. He had certainly never received it from anyone else, nor had he ever felt it. He had once hoped for the possibility of love with Kahlan, but that had been futile.

Then Rachel had been born and everything had changed. As it became apparent that the tangled longing Darken had for Kahlan would always be spurned, his every tender, possessive impulse centered on his child, and she had loved him in return.

But it had been so much simpler when she was a little girl. Then her demands were few and easily satisfied, and his were only that she be happy with what he could provide.

What terrified Darken now was his ignorance of how to navigate the emotional maze in which he and Rachel found themselves. He determined that he would see her tonight and try to repair the rift he had made in their relationship.

Maybe he had sheltered her too much by depriving her of the chance to use her abilities to their capacity. Forcing her to perform the one action she most detested without encouraging her to develop her other skills had been a mistake.

There was no reason, at the age of seventeen, that Rachel could not be given more responsibility. She needed to learn more than what to do when Richard arrived. It was important that Darken start showing her the intricacies of governing. Marriage, while necessary, could be put off for a time.

Rachel could perhaps even be given a seat on his council, and she certainly could begin to help him in mediating disputes between his contentious nobility. Her ancestors had been the arbiters of justice in the Midlands. Surely Kahlan had taught her those skills.

Darken's mood lifted as he pondered everything he planned to say to Rachel that evening. He was so absorbed in his plans that it was several minutes before Mistress Theta's voice broke into his thoughts.

"My Lord, " she ventured, more subdued than usual, "there is a matter of great importance I need to discuss with you after our return. I ask leave to meet with you in private."

Annoyed at the interruption, he replied, "I'm very tired, Theta. After I've had a chance to bathe, I intend to sup with my daughter tonight. I'll speak with you tomorrow."

His answer didn't please her. In fact, Darken could see that underneath her Mord'Sith mask of stoicism, Theta was alarmed.

That was interesting. What possible difference could one day make? If the matter was that important she could have told him last night, or earlier in the day. It wasn't as if she hadn't been alone with him recently.

"My Lord, I'm afraid this can't wait until tomorrow. It needs to be brought to your attention as soon as possible."

"Then tell me now," he said wearily. "Nobody is listening."

Theta looked down for a moment as if weighing her options, then edged her horse nearer. Gazing up at him with the hint of a smile, she had just opened her mouth to speak when they were interrupted by Mistress Alix, who looked distracted, worried and disgusted all at once.

"My Lord, Ambassador Pullo has fallen off his horse. It appears he may have broken his leg," she grunted, rolling her eyes. Off and on during the day, most of them had seen the legate swigging from a flask he kept hidden in his jacket.

"Then tether his mount to the back of the wagon, and put him in with the other dead weight," Darken barked orders. "If he's that drunk, he won't know the difference. I don't want to waste more time. Theta – go to the rear and help the others"

Alix nodded before riding back to take care of the matter. By then, many of the rest of the group, tired and irritated at being delayed, gathered closely around them.

Darken observed Theta's irritated frown with some amusement before he urged his steed on, leaving her behind to deal with the problem.

He just wanted to get home.

**oOo**

Rachel didn't know how long she sat there staring at nothing, but at some point she became aware of the sharp angle of the afternoon sunlight piercing through the room.

She had made her decision and was strangely relieved, eerily calm.

Her father would be home soon, and then he would know everything. She must act quickly.

Rachel walked over to her writing desk. Taking a sheet of parchment out of the drawer, she picked up a quill and began to write.

_Father – _

_Jonathon's not to blame for anything. He tried to stop me, he told me that I had to talk to you, but I gave him no choice. Please don't take out your anger on him because he's loyal and brave and will be himself again. You will need him to help you. _

_Don't blame Mags. She was gone all day and didn't know anything._

_Don't blame Mother or Alice. They didn't want me there._

_Everything was my fault._

_Everything._

_I'm sorry I wasn't stronger. _

_I know I've been a disappointment to you. _

_I hope Theta's son will make you happier that I could._

_Please don't hate me._

_Your daughter – Rachel_

After folding the note carefully and scribbling her father's name on the outside, Rachel reached into the desk and lifted her grandmother's wooden jewelry chest onto her lap. Tracing the intricate designs pensively with her fingers for a moment, Rachel wondered what the unknown woman's life had been like. She noted with sorrow that she was leaving her father just as his mother had left him.

Deliberately she reached back and unclasped the chain with her grandmother's pendant from around her neck. Holding the warm stone in her hand, she placed the note inside the box, then laid the pendant on top of the parchment.

It was time.

**Rachel – you have to tell him.**

**No matter what happens, Richard is still coming.**

**The dream. **

**Your father has to know about the dream.**

**Only you can tell him the right thing to do.**

**What he has to do.**

It was Dream-Rachel.

Speaking in a voice softer than a whisper, yet powerful, strong, sure, she called to her weaker self.

_How can I tell him what I don't even know myself?_

**You do know.**

**I'll help you.**

**Listen to me.**

Rachel hastily pulled out another sheet of parchment, writing at the top of the page _– About Richard_.

Then, listening to her inner voice, she began to write.

**oOo**

I'm ready now, Captain," Rachel said, opening the door to the hallway. She had thrown a heavy riding cloak over her dress, and was holding her grandmother's chest, wrapped in a shawl, protectively against her chest.

"I'm riding out to the woods," she directed in a firm voice. "Please help me to my horse and make sure nobody follows me after I leave."

Jonathon was torn between obedience and love for her. The second made him concerned. "It's not safe, the hunters are still abroad, and it will be dark soon."

As he finished speaking, the clatter of hooves sounded from the stable yard. Rachel's father had returned.

Rachel pulled Egremont into the room and over to the window with her, careful to keep out of sight of anyone who might be looking up from below. The blood was pounding in her ears.

She watched as her father swung himself down from his stallion. He looked tired, but relaxed and happy.

The only women in the party, Mistress Theta, Mistress Alix, and another, younger Mord'Sith were already seeing to the horses while keeping a careful eye on their master.

As her father tossed the reins of his steed to Mistress Alix, Rachel watched as he turned to Theta, tracing the back of his hand lightly down the side of her face. The blonde returned his smile. A silent understanding seemed to pass between them.

Something else flashed in Theta's eyes.

Triumph.

Knowledge.

**And fear – she's afraid, Rachel.**

**Listen to me!**

Her inner voice spoke again, trying to reach her. But Rachel didn't want to listen.

Her father was happy about his new child. Theta had told her so.

**She lied!**

His son.

**She doesn't know that. It could be a girl.**

**It's your brother, your sister – how can you leave?**

A hard knot of pain tightened in Rachel's throat.

It didn't matter.

This was no longer her home.

She had no home.

The other men in her father's party laughed and joked with each other as they turned their mounts over to the grooms. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, everybody had gone inside. Her father, his Mord'Sith and the hunters to the palace; the grooms taking the horses to the stables.

Rachel must leave soon or it would be too late. Her father would learn about what she had done. Would learn that Jonathon had helped her and why.

It was just a question of how much time she had before he found out.

Her father would never forgive her for this double betrayal. He would probably kill Jonathon for helping her and hate her for making him do it.

**Stay and face your father. **

**Explain the truth to him yourself.**

He was going to have a son.

Finally, someone strong who could rule after him.

**He needs you Rachel.**

No, he doesn't.

The voice fell silent.

The ground that had been shifting under Rachel's feet over the last six months was now starting to disappear. Soon there would be nothing left to stand on.

She had to get away.

But there was no way to get to her horse without being seen.

Turning away from the glass, she glanced over at the man beside her.

The only person in the world who would love her after tonight – if he survived that long.

The man whose life she prayed she hadn't ruined.

"Help me." she no longer knew if it was a demand or a plea, but to him it made no difference. "You have to help me get away from here. Just for a little while. I need some time to think."

Without a word, Jonathon took her hand and led her to a back staircase leading into the servant's kitchen. Without hesitation she followed him across the room as he walked right into the back of the huge open hearth. The solid stone gave way as he pushed against it, and swung open into a narrow dark tunnel.

Egremont explained quietly, "This passage was built centuries ago. It leads into the stables." He smiled at her serenely, his eyes worshipful. "We'll wait here for a time, and then it will be safe for us to get to our horses. Everything is going to be fine. I won't let anyone hurt you."

Rachel had no intention of taking him with her, but it was pointless to discuss that now. She settled down on the filthy floor to wait. An eternity seemed to go by in silence. Lost in her own thoughts, Rachel had almost forgotten her friend until he took her arm again.

"It's time now. They're gone. The grooms will be at their food and we can get away without anyone noticing."

When they emerged into the stables a few minutes later they were greeted by the smell of hay and manure, and the soft sounds of the horses mouthing their oats. Setting her precious burden on the floor, Rache ran over to Shadow with a sob of relief, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"I'll get the horses ready." Egremont began to gather up the equipment.

Pulling herself away from her horse, Rachel spoke firmly, "Captain, I'm sorry, but you can't go with me. I have to go alone."

He stared at her without comprehension, "Mistress, it's too late in the afternoon. Have you ever been out to the Doilgheas Wood alone, even during the day? You need my protection."

"I know what I'm doing, Captain. Please, just get help me get Shadow ready," Rachel spoke briskly.

Jonathan's distress was palpable. "Mistress, you said you needed time to think. You** are** coming back, aren't you? It's madness to think about doing anything else." He hesitated, as if uncertain whether to say more. "Your father won't stay angry with you for long. He loves you."

She refused to meet the man's eyes, restless fingers brushing wisps of hay out of Shadow's mane, "Yes, of course, I'm coming back. I know what I'm doing."

What was there to come back for?

Her father would never forgive her. Her mother; as far as her mother was concerned, Rachel had never been born.

Rachel finished tightening the girth of the saddle. Jonathan watched silently as she tugged at her cloak, looking at her with such tenderness that it was all she could do to keep herself from throwing her arms around him.

Instead, she picked up the chest from the floor and walked over to the young man. Her eyes burning into his, she placed it in his hands.

"Listen to me, Jonathon. Tomorrow morning I want you to give this to my father. You will hate me by then, but do it anyway. Father will be furious, but you have to make him read the letters that are inside the chest. Do you understand me?"

He nodded, looking upset. "Mistress, how could you think I would ever hate you?"

"Jonathon, you're confessed now. In a few hours you'll feel differently. But promise me this – swear to me on you oath as an officer of D"Hara – that as long as you live, you will serve my father loyally. I can't explain everything, but he's going to need your help. Tell him that I told you that he will need your help."

"I understand, Mistress," Jonathan said, his forehead creased with worry, not for himself, but for her.

"Good," Rachel said softly, and kissed him on the cheek. "I did you a great wrong, Jonathon. Please try to forgive me."

Shaking away any further hesitation, Rachel pulled herself up into the saddle, arranging the cloak around her slight form. As she readied to leave, Rachel gazed down at the man who could very well die because of her. "Go back to your quarters. My father will not expect me for dinner."

Recalling the look that had passed between her father and Mistress Theta, she added, "I'm sure he will be occupied most of the night."

Without another word, Rachel urged Shadow into a trot as she rode toward the distant woods, her figure shimmering through the lengthening shadows cast by the afternoon sun. She had never before ventured more than a few hundred yards from the palace without the company of either her father or an armed escort.

No one would expect her to do so now.

She was such a docile, obedient, fearful girl.

**You're a fool, Rachel, and a coward.**

Even now, her inner voice fought to be heard, but Rachel had stopped listening.

* * *

A/N Doilgheas is a Scottish-Gaelic word meaning grief, sorrow, affiliction.


	24. Lost

**Lost**

Darken groaned with relief as the steaming bath soaked away the sweat and grime of the hunt. Mistress Grace, the young Mord'Sith who had caught his eye the previous evening, had been regaling him with the account of her recent arrival at the People's Palace from the temple at Jandralyn. He pretended to listen, nodding occasionally, while he enjoyed her skill in kneading the tired knots out of his neck and shoulders.

Mistress Theta, her back turned to both of them, was already swathing herself in a towel and reaching for a clean set of leathers. Darken was amused by the resentment in her stance as she made a show of not caring that her attentions had been declined for the evening.

The clatter of boot heels against tile alerted him to First Mistress Alix's approach. "My Lord, that Holst woman is waiting outside your private audience chamber. I told her you were busy, but she insists on speaking with you. "

"Insists?" Darken squinted up at her, too drowsy for argument, but aware of a flicker of disquiet at the mention of Rachel's old nurse.

Alix shrugged slightly in apology. "Do you want me to send her away, my Lord?"

The Mord'Sith had served Darken well over the last few years, attaining the rank of First Mistress through intelligence, fearlessness and loyalty. Alix also possessed a level-headedness that commanded the respect of her sisters, a talent which Theta sorely lacked, but one which her master valued highly. Fortunately, Darken had never allowed his physical appetites to control his judgment. Theta might share his bed, but she would never attain Alix's position.

"No," he sighed, wondering what Margaret could possibly want. "I'll see her. Bring my towel."

As soon as he had returned from the hunt, Darken had ordered a servant to Rachel's apartments to inform her of his desire to sup with her that evening. "This is a request, not a command," he had stressed. "Also, tell her….that she has nothing to worry about."

"Tell her," he had added quietly, "that I have missed her company." A man loath to admit to any weakness, Darken knew that this exception was past due, even if a mere servant was privy to the knowledge.

But the lethargy of the bath had delayed him longer than intended, and almost two hours had slipped by since then. What news did Margaret bring?

Climbing out of the water and grabbing for a towel, Darken tried to quell his growing uneasiness.

**oOo**

"What do you mean, she's gone?" Darken bit off the words in disbelief. "Rachel never leaves the palace without an escort or in my company." He was still shoving his arms into the sleeves of a fresh outer robe as he glowered at the woman standing before him.

Margaret met his gaze, unflinching, her hands balled up tightly in her skirts. She seemed nervous but unafraid.

"My Lord, I've already searched everywhere I could think of. I've scoured every aisle of the library and every corner of the garden. I know all the corners she retreats to when she wants to be alone. The princess is nowhere to be found."

The woman began wringing her hands, close to tears. "It's my fault. I should never have left her earlier, but she insisted. I knew something was wrong. The girl hasn't been herself."

"Then why did you leave her?" he queried sharply. Darken reined in his temper. Margaret was devoted to Rachel, and her family had proven their loyalty to him on countless occasions. She would give her life for the girl. "Margaret, what makes you think something is wrong?" He regretted the words as soon as they were uttered.

The nurse's face darkened with anger at his willful blindness.

"What makes me think something is wrong! How can you even ask that!" she cried out. "You've refused to see her, to talk to her. You've acted like she doesn't matter to you - forcing her into this awful marriage. The lass said only today that you were starting to hate her."

**Hate her! **

Darken admitted to himself that he had been harsh with Rachel lately and that he had hurt her, but how could she believe that he could ever hate her?

Beyond caring about her own danger, Margaret glared at him with reproach. "First she lost her mother, it's not my place to question how that happened, and now she thinks you've washed your hands of her."

After years of bottling up her feelings, the old nurse could no longer hold back. "I've raised that lass since she was a week old, and there was never a more loving, gentle soul - smart as a whip, too - but that was never good enough for either of you, always wanting her to be something she's not, pulling her this way and that between you, twisting her into knots."

Darken was stunned by the bitter deluge. "You forget yourself woman!" he growled, but without much heat. The king urged him to strike back at the insolence, but the father, shamed by the honesty, could not. He forced himself to stay calm and hear her out.

Margaret continued, her voice now filled with sadness. "I tried to comfort the lass, tried to tell her that she was wrong. I thought she believed me, but now – I don't know what to think." During her tirade, the nurse had never averted her eyes from his, but now she looked away. "Her chest is missing – her grandmother's jewelry chest you gave her on her birthday four years ago. She loved it so. If that chest is gone, my Lord, then so is she."

Darken knew how dearly Rachel held that gift. It had always moved him that something his mother had treasured was so loved by her grand-daughter. The fact that she had taken the chest was troubling, but that did not necessarily mean she had left the palace.

Margaret might not know where to find Rachel, but Darken was suddenly sure that he did.

_Kahlan!_

"Her mother. She's with her mother." Darken wasn't even aware he had spoken the words aloud. There was no doubt in his mind. It was surprising that Rachel hadn't attempted to see Kahlan before this. He had always relied on her habitual obedience and reluctance to use her powers, but now it appeared that Rachel had finally rebelled.

The bubble of anger rising in his chest at his daughter's flouting of his authority was swamped by relief that she was safe. After all, what harm could it do if she saw her mother occasionally?

"Come with me," he ordered, grabbing Margaret by the arm and pulling her toward the door. "I know where to find her."

**oOo**

"Yes, my Lord, " the grizzled soldier stammered, his eyes wide with alarm. Kahlan's watchers were unaccustomed to being paid a visit from their master. "The princess was here several hours ago demanding to see her mother, but I refused. Your orders were clear. She became very upset so when I saw Captain Egremont I called him over to talk some sense - to try to make her understand, and he did try, but then – "

"Then what!" Darken's skin was beginning to crawl with dread at what the man was going to say.

"Then the Captain took her in the other room for a few minutes. When they came back he was acting all different – saying that you'd given her permission and I was to let her through….so I did." The soldier's face was pinched with terror. "I didn't have any choice, my Lord."

"Are they still in there?" Darken already knew the answer, just as he knew that Jonathon had been confessed.

"No, my Lord, they left at least three hours ago, maybe longer."

"Where did they go?" Darken was striving to remain calm. This was not the time to deal out retribution.

"The princess asked him to take her back to her rooms, my Lord." The man bowed his head, ready for the blow to fall, the blade to slash.

Darken considered quickly. Rachel and Jonathon were probably both gone, but he had to make sure.

"You!" he pointed at two of the other guards at the entry. "Go to the stables and saddle ten fresh horses, the swiftest you can find – I'm riding out within the hour. I want to know if my daughter's horse is gone. Report back to me."

As the men scurried away, Darken gestured toward the third man. "I want to see Captain Egremont in my audience chamber **– now**!" The man almost fell over his own feet in his scramble to obey.

"Where do you think they've gone, my Lord? " It was Margaret, white-faced with worry. Darken had forgotten she was there, just as he'd forgotten that Jonathon's family and hers had always been close. Her concern would not only be for Rachel.

"We'll find out soon enough. They can't have gone far." He tried to sound as if he believed it.

**oOo**

The tension in the audience chamber was thick enough to cut with a knife. Darken felt ready to jump out of his skin. Rachel's horse was gone. He had sent a patrol out to look for her, but it wasn't enough. He needed to do something now– anything.

He paced the length of the room like a caged leopard while Margaret fretted silently by the hearth. It was only right that she be here. The nurse had been more of a mother to Rachel than Kahlan ever had.

Mistresses Alix and Theta had just joined Darken when the door swung open and Jonathon was hauled into the room. At the king's curt nod, the guards retreated, leaving Egremont to face his master. The captain was clutching a small bundle protectively against his chest.

Darken glared at the man he had almost considered a son, not knowing what or how to feel. Betrayal, rage, bewilderment, fear, worry, sorrow and love all fought for dominance. But only one thing mattered right now, the rest would have to be sorted out later.

"Where's Rachel?" he demanded, the blood was pounding so loudly in his ears that the words seemed muffled and indistinct, as if coming from a great distance.

"Lord Rahl, my mistress ordered me to wait in my quarters until tomorrow morning, so that was what I meant to do," Jonathon regarded Darken in confusion. "She told me that you would be busy tonight and that I should talk to you in the morning." He was like a child reciting a lesson by rote, still clinging to his bundle as if it were the most important thing in the world.

Margaret sobbed quietly, listening to a man she no longer knew.

Darken struggled for patience. The only way to reach a confessed man was through his love for his Confessor. Striding up to Egremont, he forced the man to meet his gaze. "Captain – Jonathon – do you love my daughter?"

"More than anything in this world or the next, my Lord." Jonathon was all earnestness.

"Would you do anything to keep her safe?"

"Anything, my Lord!."

Darken's eyes searched his. "You're the only person who knows where Rachel might be, Jonathon. Just tell me."

"She told me to wait until morning, my Lord." Jonathon looked regretful, as if he had no control over the matter. "That's when I was supposed to give you this." He nodded down at the parcel in his arms.

Darken yanked the shawl away from Egremont, shattering the precious box onto the floor, where its contents slid over the marble.

"What have you done?" Jonathon keened, his voice raw with anguish. "I promised my Mistress I would keep this safe. I promised her that I would always be loyal to you, but look what you've done!" Frantic to retrieve his treasure, the captain dropped to his knees, grabbing for the amber pendant and the sheets of parchment that fluttered around him.

But Darken was faster, snatching up the chain in his fingers. The chain he had once held as a small child, when he had loved the feel of the warm stone in his palm, the warmth of his mother's cheek against his. Even now, his hand curled around it jealously.

Margaret gathered up the scattered sheets of parchment and, without a word, handed them to Darken, who began to read, his heart in his throat, trying to make sense of his daughter's cramped writing.

_Jonathon's not to blame._

_You will need him to help you._

_He's loyal and brave and will be himself again._

"No! You can't have them yet. I promised my mistress that I would wait." Desperate to fulfill his vow, Jonathon lunged at the man he had sworn to serve, only to be brought down, gasping and helpless, by an agiel thrust into his midsection.

Darken seemed oblivious to the scuffle as Rachel's words ate into him .

_I'm sorry I wasn't stronger. _

Mistress Theta had emerged from the shadows. Gripping the back of Egremont's neck with one slender gloved hand, she held her agiel up to his breast with the other, eyes glittering with triumph.

Darken had reached the last lines of Rachel's scrawl.

_Everything was my fault._

_I know I've been a disappointment to you._

_I hope Theta's son will make you happier than I could._

_Please don't hate me._

Jonathon's lips pulled back in a snarl as he met Theta's gaze. Something of his old self stirred and merged with the devoted lover. "Murderer!" he hissed. He remembered her mocking smile from the night before, saw again the body of the man who had died at her hands.

The man who had been protecting Jonathon's mistress.

"Let him go." Darken's voice cut between the two antagonists, a velvet threat.

At her master's voice, Theta stepped back, while Jonathon, released from her clutches, struggled to his feet.

"This woman, " he rasped, trying to catch his breath," Lord Rahl, this woman killed one of my men last night." Still wobbly on his feet, Jonathon pointed an accusing finger at Theta. "She murdered him in cold blood, the soldier who was guarding my mistress."

Until the last word, he almost sounded like the man he used to be.

"Explain yourself, Theta." Darken didn't have time to toy with this woman, yet he had to know if Rachel's words were true.

She gaped at him. "My lord, the man was attacking you. If it hadn't been for me -"

"The captain had no weapon, he only wanted the chest back. I think I could have handled him without your assistance," Darken snapped.

"Did you kill the man who was guarding my daughter last night?" He stalked up to her, brandishing Rachel's letter, a wafer- thin weapon, in his hand.

"Lord Rahl, the Captain is confessed. You can't believe anything he says. I wasn't near your daughter's rooms last night." Theta was sputtering, grasping at any handhold. Instinctively, she splayed her fingers over her stomach.

"Then how," Darken mused, only the faintest quaver in his voice betraying his fury, "would my daughter have known about the son you are going to bear me?"

"Is it true? Are you carrying my child?"

Theta's gaze darted frantically around the room. Her master stared back at her with basilisk eyes, his breath hot against her cheek, waiting to strike at the first sign of weakness. Margaret, Jonathon, even Alix, they were all enemies. Theta had no friends here.

She had come so far. Surely Lord Rahl would not risk harming this child, especially if the other was lost to him.

Finally, Theta let loose with a harsh laugh, choosing to throw the dice once more. "Yes, it's true, my lord. I tried to tell you earlier today but you would not spare me one moment of your ti -"

His vicious backhand caught her full on the jaw, and would have sent her sprawling, if he hadn't tangled his fingers of his other hand through her hair, yanking her head back so hard that the room spun around her. Theta dangled from his grasp like a puppet, kicking out with her feet as she fought to regain her footing.

Rachel's letters wafted to the floor, where, once again, Margaret swooped down and faithfully gathered them up.

The hunger to kill flowed through him, a heavy sweet drug he yearned to slake. But Darkren wanted so much more. He wanted to make this woman suffer, to hear her scream, to break her over and over and over.

He was a master at inflicting pain, but couldn't remember ever feeling such absolute hatred toward anyone.

Not for his father.

Not for Richard.

Not even for Kahlan, who had disappointed him so sorely. His wife had never hidden her feelings. She had never lied. She had never wantonly caused pain.

Theta's cold-blooded malice toward a girl who had never harmed anyone astounded even him.

"You knew exactly what to say, didn't you?" Darken purred into Theta's ear. "You crept up to my daughter's room and whispered every vile thing you could think of and then waited for the poison to take hold."

Theta's eyes went dead and cold. "It wasn't all my doing, my Lord. You laid the groundwork, not me. If you had talked to her last night, I would never have had the chance."

That truth lanced through his chest, but there would be plenty of time for guilt and self-loathing after tonight.

"Enough!" He shoved her away in disgust. "Mistress Alix, you're coming with us, but first, summon two of your sisters to take this – thing – out of my sight. Have her examined by a healer to determine her health. If she is with child, I don't want her damaged until after the child is born. Then – I'll deal with her myself."

Alix nodded, her face carefully neutral. "Mistress Irina and Mistress Katlyn are in the next room. They will be pleased to take care of it, my Lord."

Darken turned back to Egremont. It seemed as if years had passed since the captain had spoken. The young man looked dazed by what had just happened.

"Captain – for the last time, help me find my daughter." His shoulders sagged with exhaustion, his eyes felt gritty from lack of sleep.

Jonathon still appeared torn. "My mistress told me that you would be furious, and that I would hate her by tomorrow morning. How could she ever think that – that I would hate her?" The young man looked at his king as if the answer somehow lay with him.

Darken's heart sunk with despair.

At least the fact that the man was still confessed meant that there might still be enough time.

Margaret's voice rose from where she still stood by the hearth. "Jonathon," she ordered in a voice as firm and clear as a bell, "If you don't tell Lord Rahl everything you know about your mistress now, she's going to die. If you love her, you have to do this."

Egremont looked at his king, grief-stricken. "Doilgheas Wood. That's where she went, my Lord, about six hours ago. But she told me she was coming back, that she only wanted time to think. Why would she lie to me?"

"She didn't want to hurt you, Jonathon." Margaret came up and pulled him into a tight embrace. "She wanted you to be free, "she whispered, her throat tight with unshed tears.

"I don't want to be free, Mags. I only want her."

Darken cursed himself for a fool. The Doilgheas Wood had once been a favorite of Rachel's, but they had not been there in several years. As he recalled, the forest sheltered a stream, usually swollen by the spring rains this time of years. Foreseeing her intentions, his blood ran cold.

Still, the forest was not that many leagues away. If they rode hard they could hopefully reach it in an hour. Even if the worst had happened, there was still the breath of life.

"Come with me Captain." Darken ordered. "Alix, gather my men and meet me in the stable-yard."

Left alone in the wake of their departure, Margaret's eye was caught by Rachel's second letter, still tightly folded and sealed.

The letter her father hadn't opened.

_About Richard. _


	25. Family

**Family**

"Wake up. **Wake up!** Are you going to sleep all day?" Kahlan prodded her companion with gentle insistence. "I have the most wonderful news."

Alice wanted to scream. It was after midnight, and she had just managed to drop into an exhausted sleep. Since Richard's miraculous return, the maidservant spent her nights on the daybed, and had learned to gage time through the changing of the guards in the corridor. They were relieved thrice during every twenty-four hour span; early morning, mid-afternoon and midnight.

Keeping track of their movements gave her days some semblance of order. She often believed it was the only thing that kept her sane.

By her guess, it had to be near one o'clock in the morning.

She had put Kahlan to bed only a short while ago, wrapping the blankets close around her to ward of the ever present chill in the air, yet now the frail woman was perching next to her, trying to drag a comb through her mattered hair, still adorned in her tattered white dress. She refused to wear anything else.

"I'm the Mother Confessor, Alice. You can't expect me to wear that trash," Kahlan would say, pointing at the piles of red and gold finery that had been provided for her. "Besides, Richard loves me in this dress."

This night had been especially taxing ever since Rachel's visit.

"Are you sure she's gone?" the queen had asked repeatedly after the girl had departed. "I didn't like her. She reminded me of someone." Kahlan's eyes had widened, and for a moment she seemed to be on the verge of remembering when and where she was.

Pulling herself back from the brink, she had grabbed Alice by the arm. "Don't let her come back. Swear to me that you won't let her come back. I don't want to see her again."

Finally, soothed by her companion's promises, Kahlan had settled into a restless sleep, her body occasionally racked by the cough that had been worsening over the past weeks.

But now here she was again, wide awake, and acting, if anything, more ecstatic than on the day of Richard's arrival. "Oh, Alice, it's the best possible news!"

Kahlan paused for dramatic effect, her eyes dancing with excitement . Two hectic spots of color bloomed on her cheeks, a cruel mimicry of health. The fever that had stalked her for months had returned with a vengeance.

"I'm with child."

She took Alice's hand and placed it on her stomach. "There. Did you feel that? I try to sleep, but she keeps kicking. She's - " Kahlan voice caught, clamping her hand over her mouth she doubled over in a fit of coughing. After the spasm passed, she gazed in bewilderment at the bright red spots of blood smearing her fingers.

Alice closed her eyes for a brief moment, willing away the tears. Pulling herself up to her feet, she fetched a cup of tepid water and held it up to the queen's lips. "Here, drink this, my lady, " she crooned, smoothing the other woman's fever-damp mane away from her face. Kahlan obeyed, compliant as a child, her shoulders still shuddering with the effort to breathe.

She would play along, as she always did. Why shouldn't her mistress have this small bit of happiness, of hope?

"I am so happy for you, my lady," Alice forced a wan smile. "Have you told Richard yet?"

"Oh, yes!" Kahlan's expression was incandescent. "We are both so excited."

The queen's face went very still. "You can't imagine what this means to me, to us. "

She fondled the jeweled rada'han about her throat. The collar she had fought for so many years had become sacred to her. "I never imagined I could be this happy."

For a moment Alice wished she could join Kahlan in her world of dreams, but if she ever lost her grip on reality, there would be nobody left to care for either of them.

Kahlan interrupted Alice's brooding with an affectionate laugh. "For the past days Richard and I have been arguing about names. But now we're agreed, and it was so simple all along. How could we name our first daughter anything but Rachel?"

The dying woman rested her cheek against Alice's shoulder, sighing with contentment, her breath rattling in her throat.

"Richard and I owe everything to that brave little girl. After all, if it hadn't been for Rachel, the Seeker could never have fulfilled his destiny."

Putting her arms around the thin shoulders, Alice pretended to share Kahlan's joy.


	26. Choice

**Choice**

The sun had already sunk below the horizon by the time Rachel reached the edge of Doilgheas Wood, and the trees were starting to rustle in the night breeze.

She dismounted and unsaddled Shadow, taking a moment to lay her face against his warm flank, remembering the day he was foaled. Rachel pictured herself tugging on her father's sleeve, trying to make him hurry to the stables.

That little girl was such a stranger to her now.

Rachel led Shadow into the forest, following the cairns that marked the path. After an hour's travel, they came upon a clearing surrounded by massive trees. Tying his reins loosely around a small tree, Rachel tarried for a moment, talking to Shadow as he munched on the tender grass. Finally, afraid that she would lose her resolve, she turned on her heel and trudged into the dark.

It was as if she had stepped into another world. Doilgheas Wood was alive with a much older magic than that which flowed through her veins.

When she was a child, Rachel and her father had come here often. Leaving their horses to graze in the clearing, they would wander together into the ancient forest while he regaled her with tales of the folk who had lived here in the distant past, long before his family had come to this land. She would shiver at the scary parts, and laugh, and pester him with endless questions. Often they didn't talk at all.

Rachel was so Intent on threading her way through the trees that the sound of rushing water caught her by surprise. She hadn't realized she had traveled so far so fast. Through the undergrowth, the sun's reflection glintied against the surface of the stream.

But the placid brook of her memory, fed by the spring rains, was now a swift and treacherous current.

Even years before its beauty had been deceptively gentle, the quiet surface hiding unseen depths.

_Stay away from the edge, Rachel. _

She started in alarm. For a moment it seemed as if her father walked beside her.

Rachel gazed upstream to where the channel narrowed and was relieved to see her old perch still intact. Many years before, lightning had split a massive oak, toppling half of the trunk across the width of the stream. One of her rare forays into adventure as a girl was running across the makeshift bridgewhen her father's head was turned. But usually she would just stretch out on the grass and let the river's music wash over and around her, lulling her to sleep, knowing that father was close and would always keep her safe.

Rachel sat down a few yards away from the river's edge and closed her eyes, trying to recapture that long-ago sense of peace – if only for a moment.

Something cold and wet touched her cheek. Crying out, Rachel reached up to brush it away but her hand met nothing but air. Twigs cracked underfoot as a wild creature bounded away into the dark.

Rachel pulled her cloak tightly around her as she settled back against a tree. Even though it was midsummer, the night was growing chill. The splashing of the stream and the rustling of the forest were the only sounds to be heard. The full moon drenched the forest in silver.

Rachel felt as if a hand were gripping her throat. How could a place so beautiful make herhurt so much?

If only she could stay here forever, hidden away .

Her parent's voices clamored in her head, shattering her fragile sense of peace.

Mother's voice was filled with anguish and rage.

Father's dripped with bitterness and contempt.

She had caused so much grief, ruining Jonathon's life in a thoughtless flash of anger, destroying her mother's hopes out of childish spite.

Rachel would never have carried out her mother's wishes, but if she had just kept silent, nothing would have changed.

Instead, she had unleashed misery upon them all .

_I wish to the Creator you had never been born._

Perhaps Mother had been right .

Maybe Rachel had never been meant to exist.

**The dream, Rachel – remember the dream.**

She ignored her inner voice, not wanting to remember the cursed dream, or think about the Seeker. Somebody else would have to help him.

She wasn't strong enough, never had been. Soon her father's hopes would be crushed, too. The line of Confessors would end with her. There would be no living descendant to confess Richard when he arrived.

Rachel would never have a daughter to wear her great-grandmother's necklace.

Was that such a terrible thing? Nobody should be able to enslave another with a touch. A Confessor's power didn't come from love, it only called forth a mockery of love.

What Rachel planned this night went against everything she had ever been taught. She would pay a price in the Underworld, but no longer cared.

It was time. She couldn't risk being pulled back to this world with the Breath of Life

As she scrambled to her feet, a crunching noise drew her attention to the riverbank. She slipped closer, heedless of danger, but seeing nothing, hiked toward the oak bridge.

The crackling grew louder, and suddenly, on the opposite side of the stream, a white hart emerged from the safety of the trees. Rachel froze, not wanting to startle him. Over the years, she had heard stories, legends, about such creatures, but had never heard of one being seen.

The stag was magnificent – and mortally wounded. As the beast struggled to the water's edge she could see the jagged shaft of an arrow sticking out of its throat and the trail of blood winding behind him. It was a miracle the hart was still alive, but he would never survive the night.

Stricken with pity, Rachel watched as the lovely animal tried to lower his head to drink, the wooden shaft hindering his movements.

Prodded by an impulse beyond conscious thought, Rachel gathered up her skirt in one hand and stepped up onto the felled oak. Striding across the makeshift bridge, she approached the stag without hesitation, questioning whether she had lost her wits. Despite its injury, the animal had a wicked set of antlers, and even in its weakened condition, could easily gouge her to death.

Raising its head at her advance, the hart stood motionless, gazing at her with eyes dulled by pain.

Feeling as if she were in the midst of a dream, yet somehow knowing that she was fully awake, Rachel reached out and gently patted the warm hide, murmuring soothing words as she stroked him. The animal's muscles tensed under her fingers, then relaxed.

**Take it out, Rachel.**

Dream-Rachel, strong –Rachel had returned. Maybe she had never left.

_I'll kill him_, she tried to argue back.

**Just do it!**

Her fingers slick with blood, Rachel managed to get a firm grip on the arrow with one hand while bracing herself against his body with the other. With a silent prayer to the Creator, she yanked the shaft free in one smooth motion and stepped back.

The hart dropped to its knees, and she was certain he was dying. Then, with a heavy groan, the animal heaved itself up again. Turning his massive neck, he regarded her without fear as the gaping wound left by the arrow began to close. Astounded, she rubbed her fingers lightly over where the injury had been, but could feel nothing but firm skin. Rachel could sense the strength flowing back into the great body. For an endless moment they stared into each other's eyes before the stag turned and crashed back into the forest.

Her hands were still sticky with blood, the arrow clutched in one fist. Blood clotted in the dirt where the stag had tried to drink.

Kneeling down on the river's edge to cleanse her trembling hands, Rachel tried to sort through what had just happened.

"Thank you, girl!" A female voice rang out.

Rachel whirled around in alarm, but there was nobody in sigh.

"Your father is a terrible shot! He wasn't even aiming for my stag, didn't even see him. But the Mord'Sith took down the other one after he had been driven out into the open, so there was nothing I could do. It's a pity – over the past hundred years, I only had the two, and now one is gone."

"Where are you?" Rachel whispered, her eyes darting over her surroundings – the river, the clearing, the bridge, the woods.

Nothing.

"I'm here - under the trees." The woman's form seemed to materialize out of the air, at the very spot where the hart had jumped back into the forest, but it could have been a trick of moon and shadow. "Come to me, girl. I've been watching you."

Rachel obeyed without a qualm. Nearing the canopy of trees she could see that the other woman looked to be her own age, slender, tall, long dark hair, pale skin reflecting the moonlight, carelessly adorned in a homespun dress.

"Who are you? Why have you been watching me?" Rachel asked, surprised by her lack of fear.

"I watch everyone who comes here," the woman answered with a dignity belying her years. "This is my home, and I look after it well. Sadly, my protection does not extend beyond the boundaries of this forest. That is how I lost my other dear one." Her eyes glistened with unshed tears.

"I'm so sorry." Rachel had known nothing about the other stag, but regretted that her father's hunting party had brought about the animal's death." But why do you do this?" Father had men who guarded against poachers, but she had never heard him speak of a woman who lived in the forest.

"I do it because somebody must, and because I always have. What better reason could there be?" Rachel was uncomfortably aware of the woman's keen scrutiny. "As for my name – you can call me Ida. I have others, but that's as good as any. Names can be very powerful, but sometimes they get in the way."

"How long have you lived here…Ida? Do you work for my father? Why haven't I ever seen you"" The questions tumbled out as she struggled to make sense of the woman' s words. Rachel could see now that Ida was older than she first thought. The woman's skin, which had at first appeared so pale and smooth, now looked weathered by the sun and wind, lined by laughter and sorrow. The glossy hair was shot through with white.

Ida smiled, her eyes shining with wry humor. "I answer to no man – or woman. You've never seen me because I haven't wished to be seen. I was here before your father's father was born, or the first of his family. I have been here since the beginning." She shrugged at Rachel's look of disbelief. " I don't expect you to understand. The passage of time means little to me."

"Were you created by the wizards during the war?"

Ida snorted with distain. "Ah, the great Wizard War! I lost so many of my children during that havoc. Tens of thousands were cut down and slain by both sides, all for power and greed." For a moment the woman seemed to gaze inward at something only she could see or remember. "I was here before the wizards, or the Confessors they created. I am content to stay in my world and leave them to theirs."

"I'm a Confessor, "Rachel blurted out. "I wish I weren't, but there's nothing I can do about it, and I've done terrible things." Her voice hitched in a sob, ashamed at lapsing back to her old weak self.

"I know exactly who and what you are, child," Ida said softly, putting her arm around the girl's quivering shoulders and pulling her down to sit beside her. "Just because I live apart from your world doesn't mean I'm ignorant of it."

Rachel bowed her head as Ida continued to talk. Her voice sounded like music.

"I know who your parents are and how they came to be married. I know that Richard Cypher was, and still is, the Seeker, and your uncle. I know that he will re-appear in forty years, and that your mother married Darken Rahl in the hope that her child would return the Seeker to that earlier time when she traveled at his side."

Ida took Rachel's chin in her calloused hand, turning the girl's face to hers.

"I know why you came here tonight, Rachel Rahl."

Rachel tried to turn away from that inscrutable gaze, but Ida's grip was firm. "I have to do it, there's no other way," she muttered.

"There's always another way, child, but even I can't see everything clearly. You did me a good service this night, and I want to do you one in return."

"I didn't do anything, " Rachel argued. "I didn't help the stag. He would have died regardless of anything** I** did. You are the one that healed him." She wasn't sure of how she knew the latter to be true, only that it was.

Ida's voice was quietly relentless. "But you didn't know I was there. Instead, you tried to help, just as you tried to help Richard find his path. You are braver than you give yourself credit for.

"That was a dream," Rachel retorted. "I didn't understand what I was doing."

"Are you so sure it was only a dream?" Ida queried as she stood up, brushing stray twigs and leaves out of her clothes. "Come with me. I want to show you something." She stepped onto the riven oak spanning the river, walking nimbly to the center, then turned and gestured to Rachel.

"Here! Don't be afraid – I won't let you fall."

Rachel followed, tentative and awkward. She had run across this plank only moments before, but then her attention had been fixed on the animal's plight, now she was aware of narrowness of the span and the swiftness of the current. She clung to Ida's steadying hand as the other woman's helped her sit down.

For a few minutes both sat without speaking, listening to the rush of the river beneath their feet. Rachel could feel the cool spray of water against her skin. She no longer questioned what was happening or why.

She just waited.

Then Ida stretched out her hand before her, moving it in slow circles above the river's surface. A fine mist began to rise around them as the current slowed, eddied and then pooled, becoming as smooth as still as glass. The forest went silent around them.

"Tell me, Rachel," Ida asked, her attention seemingly focused on the river, "why do you think your life is so unimportant?"

"You don't understand!" Rachel protested, feeling weak and selfish. "I have failed everyone – Mother, Father, Jonathon. I have failed myself. I can't stand the way they look at me. I can't stand knowing that my parents despise me. I hate what I've done to Jonathon, but at least I can still free him."

"I can't do it anymore. I'm weak, and I'm tired, and I just want it to stop - the demands, the anger, the expectations that I can never fulfill, all the betrayals." For the first time in her life Rachel didn't hold back. Tears streamed down her face as she gave vent to the anger and fear dammed up over the years.

"You feel weak and hopeless, Rachel, but have you ever imagined how your mother must felt on the eve of her marriage?"

Stung by Ida's betrayal, Rachel started to get up, tottering precariously on the ancient limb.

The older woman caught her hand. "Rachel, sit back down and listen to me. I'm not saying that your mother was right, or that I agree with what she did. But don't you think it's possible that she considered taking her own life?"

"No, I don't think it's possible," Rachel snapped, surprised by the bitterness in her voice. "Once she learned that Richard was still alive, Mother had no doubts. She had a plan and nothing was going to get in her way. Father would have loved her if she had ever given him the chance."

"But yet she must have known that she would probably be dead before Richard arrived," Ida mused. She was studying the palm of her hand as if pondering some deep mystery. "So many things could have gone wrong – did go wrong - for her. But she took the chance anyway."

"Why are you on her side?" Rachel cried. She had thought Ida was trying to help her. "Don't you know what she wanted me to do?"

"She wanted you to help Richard," the forest woman said with maddening calm.

"Not just help him. It wasn't enough to just **help** him. Mother wanted Richard back. I was supposed to sacrifice myself and father so she could be with the man she loved. Our lives didn't matter. Her grandchildren's lives didn't matter." Rachel almost sobbed with frustration. She wanted to pound her fists against the wood. Why did they have to talk about her mother?

Ida regarded her thoughtfully. "Yes, your mother's plan was desperate and foolish. Even if I could justify her reasoning, no sane person would have carried out her wishes. She let her own despair and need get mixed up with prophecy, and refused to consider other possibilities. Her inflexibility could only lead to grief - for everyone."

Rachel stared back at her, somewhat mollified but still confused.

Ida let out a deep sigh, running slender fingers through her tangled hair. "Rachel, whether you like it or not, Richard and Cara arrive in forty years. Your father will almost certainly be dead by then. If you die tonight, what kind of welcome will Richard receive? What sort of land will he find? I have seen things – visions of what could happen that terrify me. Whatever your feelings, Richard is your uncle, he is the Seeker and he carries the Rahl bloodline. While that means very little to me, it means a great deal to the outside world."

**Richard! Always Richard!**

Rachel tried to push her resentment aside. Ida was only stating the truth. The dream she had tried so hard to forget over the past day sprang vividly to mind. She again saw Richard standing in front of her, heard the words spoken between them, once more felt the damp chill of the crypt and remembered her hand passing through the doorframe.

"I was dead, Ida - in my dream," she said with sudden clarity. "I was afraid to walk into the crypt with Richard. I didn't let myself think about why, but now I know. When I was talking to Richard I was already buried there with my parents." Rachel fought to control the panic rising in her chest. "And my father's throne room was empty, deserted. There was no king, no queen….there were no children." She looked over at her companion with a dawning realization. "But Ida, I wasn't thinking about killing myself when I had the dream. That didn't happen until after I confessed Jonathon. Doesn't that mean when Richard arrives, I'll be dead anyway?"

Ida didn't answer right away, staring into the distance. Finally, she spoke, the words coming slowly. "I know what you saw, child, I know what you said. Now I want to show you what I have seen. Are you willing to look?" She turned to Rachel, her eyes gentle.

Her heart pounding against her chest, Rachel nodded. She had ventured too far into the unknown to turn back.

Ida closed her eyes for a few seconds as if gathering some force from deep within herself, then she stretched out her hands over the glistening mirror of water.

For a moment nothing happened, but then images began to swirl and form on the surface, a montage of the past.

Mother, young and radiant with hope, was holding a newborn babe in her arms as Father looked on, his happiness reflecting hers.

Ten-year old Rachel glanced up at her parents with worry, trying to figure out how to make them like each other.

Father was giving Rachel her grandmother's pendant, his expression soft with tenderness.

Rachel was reeling with sickness after performing her first confession.

Mother's eyes glowed with determination as she explained to Rachel why she had been born.

The three of them stood in her mother's rooms, Father's face twisted with bitter triumph hiding betrayal and pain, Mother's with grief, rage and anger, while Rachel retreated from them both in horror.

"I already know all of this, Ida." She didn't want to live through it all again. "There is no mystery to what's already happened."

"Be patient, child," the forest woman intoned as the reflections of the past whorled into nothingness. "Now see the future caused by your self-destruction."

The river turned blood-red beneath Rachel's feet as visions emerged of her father gone mad with grief and rage.

Father was clutching Rachel's body against his breast, his hands dark with gore. Mistress Alix and Jonathon lay motionless at his feet, their throats slit;

Father was slashing out at everyone around him in his fury– Mother, Alice, Jonathon, Margaret, even poor Shadow - all murdered.

Father was huddled in his library for days, months, years, bent over arcane scrolls, seeking out wizards and sorcerers for a potion to prolong his life, desperate to find a way to rip Orden from Richard's grasp when he arrived.

Father snapping her sister's neck as soon as she was born, leaving Mistress Theta to bleed to death.

Father slumped on his lonely throne, while the land descended into chaos and blood.

Father dying alone, aged and decrepit, abandoned, as his men and Mord'Sith fought for dominance of a war-torn country.

Cara slaying Richard with an agiel to the heart within moments of their arrival forty years hence.

A barren landscape stretching for endless leagues as civil war ripped apart the last remnant of the peace her parent's marriage had secured.

"Stop it. Stop it! **Make it stop!**" Rachel screamed. Her fingernails clawed into the wood as she tried to crawl away from the tableau of devastation that was already dissolving into the depths.

"I dreamed you would come here tonight, Rachel, and I knew what you planned to do. These visions came to me, I did not summon them, and they are the same now as they were then. Nothing has changed." Ida's voice was deep with sorrow. "Even my forest will be destroyed in the bloodbath to come."

"What are you asking me to do?" Rachel sobbed. "I can't change what will happen. I've never been able to control anything in my life."

"Don't be a fool!" Ida barked, for the first time losing patience. It was strange how much the woman sounded like Rachel's dream-self. "You can choose to live. You can convince your father that Richard's destiny is to succeed him, not to destroy him. You can protect your sister. You can understand that your life, regardless of how short it might be, can still change everything."

Ida's voice became gentler. "Rachel, you already know this. In your dream, you rejected the course each of your parents had planned for you and for Richard. Your uncle doesn't belong in the past. That path is forever closed to him."

The woman grasped Rachel's hands in her own. "Don't you see, Rachel? Everything depends on what you decide. **You are the bridge**. Not a bridge to the past – that was your mother's delusion - but Richard's bridge to the future. Without you, he'll never find his way."

_Regardless of how short it might be. _The words echoed in Rachel's ears.

"And if I do what you ask, is there any way to know that things will turn out differently?" Rachel asked, gazing intently into Ida's eyes. "If my life is going to be so short, even if I don't end it tonight, won't everything I've just seen still happen?"

"I can only see what will occur if you die tonight, child." Ida sounded tired. She had aged further, her hair now gone white, her face furrowed with wrinkles.

"Because I need to know – I have a right!" Rachel insisted. "Nothing can be worse than what I've already seen, and if you want me to believe you, I have to have some hope."

"Very well, child" Ida said wearily, stretching a withered arm out over the water. "I have pushed my strength almost to the limit this night, I don't know if I can do anything more. What may come is as unknown to me as it is to you."

Rachel said nothing, staring at her own reflection in the liquid mirror. For what seemed like an eternity, nothing happened, and then the river once again began to eddy and flow, the current gaining speed as it resumed its journey to the sea.

Now she would never know.

"I'm sorry, Rachel. There's nothing more I can do." Ida was so hunched over she could barely struggle up from her arthritic knees. Her voice sounded feeble and weak, hardly more than a whisper.

Rachel helped the old woman to her feet. Wracked by despair, she tried to summon up words, but didn't know what to say. She put her arm around the frail shoulders as they trudged over the bridge.

Once their feet touched the ground, Ida's strength gave out and she sagged into Rachel's embrace. Supporting the woman's weight, the girl half-carried her faltering companion over to the spot where Rachel had first seen her. Settling Ida against the giant roots, Rachel knelt beside her, unsure of what to do next.

**Let me help you, Rachel. **

**Let me show you what you want to know.**

Startled, Rachel glanced at Ida to see if she had spoken, but the old woman was fast asleep.

**Don't look at Ida. **

**Look inside, Rachel. Close your eyes and see me.**

**I'm part of you. I've always been part of you.**

It was dream-Rachel.

**Let go of your fear. Let go and I will show you.**

**Trust me.**

Hopeless and too exhausted to argue, Rachel shut her eyes – and let go as the future swept over her.

**XxXxXxXxXxXx**

Unafraid, Rachel stood in her father's library, arguing, cajoling, persuading. His expression was tight with frustration and disbelief. She was telling him she would never allow Richard to be confessed, that she would refuse the Power of Orden.

He didn't want to listen, but she refused to give up. Someday he would understand about Richard. She was sure of it.

**oOo**

Rachel sat at her mother's bedside, dabbing a moist cloth against Kahlan's forehead as she struggled for breath. Sunlight streamed through the window, but brought little comfort as she watched her mother die. Alice sobbed behind her, leaning over to close her mistress's eyes.

**oOo**

Rachel was scribbling furiously in a journal, recording everything she could remember about her encounter with Richard and Cara. She was frustrated that Father was so stubborn, but she wasn't going to give up. Someday he would understand. She was certain of it.

**oOo**

Rachel held her baby sister in her arms, marveling at the tiny, perfect fingers and toes. Her father refused to have anything to do with the child, but had grudgingly allowed her to care for the child. When Rachel asked how he could love one daughter but not the other, he didn't respond.

After much deliberation she had chosen a name. Amanda – worthy of being loved.

**oOo**

Rachel was gazing up at Jonathon, her husband, as he regarded her with love-struck eyes. She tried to quell the sadness in her heart at what he could have been, and resolved that she would make a life for both of them. It was her duty, and she owed him more than she could ever repay. Together, they would love and raise her sister Amanda.

They would be a family.

**oOo**

Rachel struggled in childbirth, wracked by pain that left her gasping. Finally, exhausted from labor, she fell back against the pillows, only to see the healer shake her head with sorrow. The child had come too soon.

Her husband and father comforted and cossetted her, but her father's eyes were dark with worry when he told her there would be no more children.

**oOo**

Rachel leaned over the table, urging her father to consider the future, trying to convince him to prepare for Richard. His face was set stubbornly, but he didn't turn away. He was starting to listen.

**oOo**

Rachel was fighting to breathe as the flames licked through the curtains, the tapestries and finally the bedding. She heard Jonathon calling her name, but she couldn't answer. The smoke filled her throat as the world turned white.

**oOo**

Father's face was lined with grief and defeat as he stroked the cheek of the marble effigy. He leaned over to kiss Rachel's likeness before leaving the crypt.

**oOo**

Jonathan and Miranda were getting married. He wore the insignia of a general, but that was immaterial on this day of joy.

Arriving at their new home, Jonathon laughed as he swung first Miranda, then a giggling Amanda, over the threshold to start their life together as a family. Jonathon was the only father the little girl had ever known.

**oOo**

Father sat alone in his study, lost in thought, as he turned the pages of Rachel's journal.

He was worried about what would happen after his death. Richard wouldn't arrive for another thirty-five years.

Would his brother have the slightest idea of how to rule? Would he be wise enough to seek Cara's loyalty?

Heaving a resigned sigh, he sent a retainer to fetch General Egremont. It was time to tell Jonathon about Richard.

**oOo**

Jonathon listened as his king told him everything that must be done, nodding in solemn agreement. He would serve his king as loyally as his father ever had, even beyond death. He had once made a promise to Rachel, and he had never forgotten it, even after he had been released from the fog of confession.

He owed it to Rachel, to his king and to Amanda.

He would not fail.

**oOo**

Father dropped the quill for a moment to rub at his eyes. It was getting harder for him to see but he could show no sign of weakness.

His journal lay open on the table in front of him. This book and Rachel's were secrets known only to himself and General Egremont.

He longed for his bed but there was still so much more to write. With grim amusement he wondered if Richard would be willing to read anything written by the monster, Darken Rahl.

There was still twenty-five years left. It seemed so impossibly far away.

**oOo**

It was Amanda's wedding day. Dancing with her father she laughed at his efforts to perform the intricate steps. He smiled back at her, basking in her happiness.

Afterward, content to lay her head against her husband's shoulder, she absently caressed one of her wedding gifts. The amber pendant felt so warm under her fingers.

Despite her father's high position, Amanda had only seen the king from afar, and didn't understand why he had given her such a great honor.

It looked very old. She wondered who had once worn it.

**oOo**

Father could scarcely make out the words on the page. Not only were his eyes failing, but his joints were so swollen and sore that he could barely hold the quill in his shaking hand. His writing had become too cramped to read. He would soon have to start dictating the instructions to Egremont.

The book wouldn't do Richard any good if he couldn't read it.

**oOo**

Father had ordered everyone but Jonathon out of his chambers. Sheer willpower had carried him into his late eighties, but there was little time left to him.

Once they were alone, Jonathon drew a chair up against the bed, ready to listen to his master's final words.

It was time to tell Egremont about Cara and her son. The general would have to know everything before Richard arrived, even the darkest secret of all.

**oOo**

Jonathon stood watch beside the crypt. His king had been buried only days before and Egremont had been named Lord Protector.

He would need all the strength at his command to hold the kingdom together over the next seven years.

He prayed that he would prove worthy. He hoped that Richard would listen – and read.

As he turned to leave, Jonathon paused beside Rachel's effigy. For a few moments the years dropped away from his face as he touched the cold marble. It was hard to believe that she had been gone for over twenty-five years.

**oOo**

Magic flashed over the mountainside of West Granthia where Jonathon waited and watched. He had not been certain of the exact day so had been camped here for weeks. He missed his wife, his children, his grandchildren. Maybe when things were in order he could spend more time with them.

With a crack of thunder two figures appeared in a glare of light.

Finding himself surrounded by soldiers, Richard Cypher Rahl instinctively reached for the sword that wasn't there. It took four men to restrain a snarling, kicking Cara from lunging at the Seeker.

His king had insisted that Richard would need her, and Jonathon would obey. She would not be hurt.

Stepping up to Richard with brisk assurance Egremont held his fist to his heart and dropped to his knees. His men followed his lead. Richard and Cara could only gape in bewilderment.

The next Lord Rahl had arrived.

**oOo**

Richard knelt by Kahlan's tomb, his face streaked with tears. Cara stood at attention by his side, no longer restrained. She stared impassively at the tomb which held the father of her child.

Neither of them glanced at Rachel's effigy.

She meant nothing to them.

**oOo**

Jonathon was trying to get Lord Rahl to see reason. Richard wanted vengeance for Kahlan, not seeming to comprehend that everyone at fault had died years before.

Screaming a curse, he had thrown Father's journal at Egremont, saying that he would never do the bidding of a monster.

He refused to believe that Darken Rahl had been his brother.

Richard wanted no part of being Lord Rahl.

Jonathon picked up the book and handed it back to his king.

He was a patient man.

**oOo**

Richard stood by Kahlan's tomb, mournful and pensive, his brother's journal in his hand. He was still staggering under the burden of a duty he had never anticipated, and for which he was totally unprepared.

He would never understand how or why the man he most hated had come to the point of recognizing Richard as his heir.

Reluctantly, he thumbed back to the first page of the journal and started to read.

_Dear Brother - _

**oOo**

A roar of acclamation greeted Lord Richard Rahl and First Mistress Cara as they strode out on the balcony of the People's Palace. Richard seemed uncomfortable in his royal garb but acknowledged his people with a smile. Stumbling a bit over the first few words, he gained confidence as he spoke of a new era for his countrymen.

His posture still straight and proud despite his advancing years, Jonathon watched as his efforts were finally rewarded.

He had fulfilled his duty to a king, and to a girl long dead.

Richard would never know about Rachel's efforts on his behalf, and might not have thanked her if he had.

There were some secrets that could never be shared.

**XxXxXxXxXxXx**

At the sight of the small crumpled form lying in the grass, Darken felt his heart jump into his throat. He had known where to search, but had feared that Rachel's body might have been swept downstream if she had drowned herself, but maybe she had found another way, or perhaps she had been killed.

"Alix – Over here! Now!"

The Mord'Sith was hard on his heels, with Jonathon close behind, as Darken tore over the gnarled bridge. Scooping Rachel up in his arms, he crushed her to his breast, where she stirred - warm, breathing, alive.

At that moment, nothing else mattered.

"What were you doing? What were you doing?" he whispered into her ear, barely coherent, pressing frantic kisses against her cheeks, her brow, the crown of her head.

"It's all right, father. I'm fine," Rachel said softly. "I'm not afraid anymore."

Drawing away slightly, Darken cupped his daughter's face in his hands, a question in his eyes that could not be uttered. He had never asked forgiveness from anyone, and even now couldn't force himself to say the words. Rachel was a Confessor. She would understand.

She smiled at him and nodded, then peered over his shoulder. "Father, there was an old woman who helped me last night. Is she still asleep?"

"There's nobody here, Rachel. You were alone when we found you." Darken gestured for Alix and Jonathon for check the surroundings. Both came back in short order, shaking their heads. Jonathon couldn't take his eyes off Rachel and resumed his hovering stance behind them. It was very irritating, but Darken supposed he would have to learn to put up with it.

"There's nobody else here, my Lord, " Alix reported. "But I did find this. It looks as if one of our quarry escaped yesterday." She showed him a broken arrow shaft, stained dark with blood. "Someone must have removed it."

Darken waved her off. He wasn't interested in the hunt.

"Father, I'd like to look for her myself. I want to thank her." Rachel spoke with a quiet assurance he had never heard before. "Then I want to go home. There are things we need to talk about." She regarded him steadily.

That was certainly an understatement.

Reluctant to let his daughter out of his sight again, Darken grudgingly loosened his embrace and watched as she marched toward the forest. "Don't go too far, Rachel."

Her voice wafted back to him. "Don't worry, father. I'm not a little girl anymore."

Rachel scoured the line of trees, but Ida seemed to have vanished into the mist. Disappointed, but not surprised, she wondered if the woman would ever make herself known again.

Retracing her steps, she pondered over the loss of the burden that had haunted her since birth.

Fear had been Rachel's constant companion since birth. She had always been afraid of displeasing one parent by loving the other, afraid of disappointing them both, afraid of faltering in her duty to her mother, afraid of angering her father, afraid of her own powers. Every decision in her life had been driven by fear.

Until, with Ida's help, she had faced the demon and cut the chains that weighed her down.

Rachel knew that grief and pain lay in wait and it saddened her, but there was also joy. There would be days when her old enemy stalked her again, but now she could see the hope that shone beyond.

Her thoughts turned to the Seeker and how their lives had revolved around each other, even though they would never meet.

Richard would always be more of an idea than a man to her, and could never be her only reason for living. There were others who needed her just as much, and on whom his future also depended.

Rachel loved her father, as capricious, selfish and cruel as she knew him to be. She knew he cared for her and that he craved her love in return. He needed her help in so many ways.

She loved Jonathon, marveling at his courage and loyalty. He, more than anyone, would give up his life for Richard, and would never be thanked for it.

Rachel would never bear a living child, but she would have a sister to love, even if father rejected her. Maybe, in his heart, he knew that Amanda would have a happier life away from him.

As if summoned by her thoughts, his voice sliced through the dawn "Rachel, It would be nice if we had the luxury of waiting for you to explore, but I do have three territories to rule." She smiled as how quickly he had reverted to form.

"I'm coming, father," she called, picking up her pace.

_What about your mother, Rachel?_

Startled, Rachel glanced over at the trees. "Ida? Is that you?"

_Can you finally forgive your mother?_

She blinked back sudden tears. Why had she always found it so hard to love her mother? Even as a small girl she had always run to her father first. Had she felt the coldness even then?

The distance?

Was that why it had been so hard to forgive herself?

_Let it go._

"I forgive you, mother, "she whispered, and the last link of her chains fell away.

"Rachel" her father's voice came from the distance, edged with concern. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, I'm fine. I just wanted to say good-bye."

It was time to go home.

**The End**

* * *

**A/N: Thanks to all of you who have read and followed this story. I appreciate each and every one of you. **

**Flidhais (Ida**) is the name of a Celtic woodland goddess. Traditionally, she sometimes assumes the form of a doe.

**The white hart or stag** is prominent in mythology and folklore. To the ancient Celts, the animal was a symbol of doom, a messenger sent from the Otherworld. The sight of a white hart was thought to be a sign that a profound change was about to occur in a person's life. In Authurian legend, the sighting of a white hart was a signal that Arthur and his knights were to set out on a new quest.


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